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him no answer, and went down stairs. He then got up, and stood at the window, watching to see Mr. Somers go, and thinking he would go and beg his papa's pardon as soon as Mr. Somers was gone; but Mr. Somers walked out with Mr. Fairchild after dinner, and came in to tea with him.
While Mr. Fairchild and Mr. Somers were walking in the garden, somebody came up softly to the door of Henry's room and pushed a paper under the door, and then Henry heard the person run away. It was Lucy. Henry took up the paper: it was folded up like a letter, and Lucy had written these words upon it:
“Dear Brother, Emily and I must not speak to you; but we have been praying for you. I hope you are sorry for being naughty, and that you have prayed to God, and told all your wickedness to him. You know that He will forgive you, if you ask him in our Saviour's name; and that he will send his Holy Spirit into your heart. I have not time to say more.
“ Your dear sister,
“ Lucy FAIRCHILD."
When Henry had read this letter he looked for this little hymn-book, which he always kept with his Bible, on a shelf just over his bed's head; and when he had sung a hymn, he prayed. As he prayed, all that remained of his proud and obstinate spirit seemed to leave him. And he felt nothing but shame and sorrow for his sins. He prayed and sang till it grew dark, and then he laid himself on his bed and fell asleep.
I shall put down Henry's hymn and prayer in this place, for the use of children, when they are in disgrace with their papas and mammas, or their masters and teachers.
A Prayer for a humble Spirit under Correction, that we may
be the better for correction given us. O Lord God Almighty, I am a very wicked child! I have made my dear parents angry, by disobeying their commandments; and when they punished me, instead of being humble, I was angry and proud. O Lord God, take this pride and obstinacy out of my heart, that I may feel that I have deserved this punishment, and in
deed a much greater, had it pleased them to give it to me. Did not my dear Saviour bleed and die for my sins? and do I not know that there is not one person who is good; and that there is not a just man on earth that doeth good and sinneth not? and yet, when any punishment comes upon me, I am ready to rebel, and
think myself very ill used! O holy Father, send thy · Holy Spirit to humble my proud heart, to set all my sins before me, and particularly this fault that I have done to-day; that I may be truly sorry for it, and that I may bear my punishment with patience, and that I may remember this punishment, and be the better for it all the days of my life.
With humble heart and tongue,
My God, to thee I pray:
How I may cleanse my way.
Teach me thy will to know :
Betimes on me bestow.
Make an unguarded youth
The object of thy care :
And fly from every snare.
Renew by pow'r divine;
And make me wholly thine.
My warmest thoughts employ:
My treasure and my joy.
Be my whole soul inclin'd;
And sanctify my mind.
By these to cleanse his way;
That leads to endless day.
THE MISERY OF THOSE WHO ARE UNDER
THE ANGER OF GOD,
THE ANGER OF HIS FATHER.
HENRY slept till midnight, about which time he awoke. It was dark, and the wind whistled, as it often does in an autumn or winter's night in England. Henry had often heard the wind whistle before, but it had never sounded so dismally in his ears as he thought it now did. At one time it sounded as at a distance, sweeping over the fields; then it came nearer and nearer, and rustled among the trees, the leaves of which were beginning to fall; and then it came close, and shook the window. Henry was frightened, and covered his head over with the bed-clothes. What was it that made Henry afraid of this wind? It was because he knew that he had been a very bad boy: he was in disgrace with his papa, and he knew that he deserved God's anger.
After a while Henry fell asleep again, and did not wake till morning. Henry got up, and looked out of the window: it had rained very hard during the night, and the wind had scattered the damp leaves over the garden. Henry went down stairs, with a sorrowful heart: the study door was half open: Henry peeping in, saw his papa reading his Bible at his desk. Mr. Fairchild looked very grave : suddenly he turned his head, and looked towards the door. Now was Henry's time: he should have run up to his papa, and knelt down before him; but, instead of doing so, he ran away into the garden. There he saw Betty feeding the fowls in a little yard which ran along the back of the garden, and he asked for a bit of bread. She brought what he asked for, without speaking a word, and gave it to him, with a cup of milk, over the pales. When he gave the cup back to her he spoke to her again, but she turned away without answering him. Then Henry began to cry again, and walked sorrowfully to his favourite walk in, the coppice; but even this his favourite walk now. apr peared to him dismal: there were no flowers to be seen by reason of the fallen leaves, which nearly covered all
the pathway: and the trees waved their heads backwards and forwards in the wind. Poor Henry had never felt himself so unhappy before: his papa's displeasure was the cause of his sorrow, and made him think that even the woods and the fields were changed.
I know not how long Henry had sauntered about the coppice, but it seemed to him a long while, when suddenly he heard a very sweet sound of one singing in the wood, and, standing still to listen, he heard a child's voice singing these words :
Jerusalem, thou blessed place!
The voice ceased, and Henry then walked on towards the part of the wood from which the sound came, and, coming to a turning of the pathway, he saw a little boy sitting on a trunk of a tree which had been felled, and leaning his back against one of the great branches. It was a part of the wood facing the mid-day sun, and sheltered from the wind. The little boy was dressed in coarse clothes, and those well patched and darned
He had ceased singing, and was now reading, and that so busily, that Henry came up close to him before he perceived him. When the little boy looked up from his book, Henry saw that he was Charles Trueman, John Trueman's second son; one of the most pious little boys in all that country, and a great favourite of Mr. Fair. child, and of Mr. Somers, who had himself taken great pains in his education.
“Good morning, Master Henry,” said Charles, getting down from his seat, and putting his book into his pocket, “But what is the matter? you look very white-and you have been crying! I hope nothing amiss has happened.”
“Ah, Charles !” said Henry, “I am very unhappy, very unhappy indeed !” He then told Charles all that had happened: how obstinate he had been, and in what way his father had punished him; and that he was still shut out from his father's company, and from his mamma's and sisters'. “And oh! Charles," he said, “ you cannot think how miserable I am! Nobody looks at me, nobody speaks to me! The very trees and hills and fields seem to be changed! This pretty coppice, in which I used to delight so much, looks pleasant no longer ! And last night I was so frightened by the wind! I thought there was something on it coming for me-I can't tell what I thought, I shook so !"
“Ah! Master Henry,” said Charles, “it is because you are under your father's displeasure, and have deserved to be so, that you feel all these fears, and are so miserable. While we are little, our parents, if they are holy people, stand in the place of God to us : when they smile and are pleased with us we are happy; all the good things, victuals and clothes, and house and teaching, come through them to us; and when they cast us off, we feel a little like those miserable wretches who are cast aside by God.”
“ What do you mean by being cast aside by God?" said Henry.
“Why," answered Charles," when people have for a long time been very hardened in their sins, and set their faces against God and our dear Saviour, refusing, and perhaps mocking at the Holy Spirit, then God forsakes them; he takes away all comfort and happiness from their hearts; and then all the riches and grandeur and pleasures of the world are unable to give them ease ;