THE Juvenile Missionary Herald. THE SEVEN MONUMENTS. It was a bright frosty morning in January. The light crisp flakes of snow along the field-path crackled under Herbert's feet, as at his father's side he walked briskly along to the House of God. The Sabbath was such as we always love to see in winter-time, in the country. Every one looked happy, and many a cheerful word passed between friends who were going down hill to the chapel, and those on their way up to the church, the quick "tinkle tinkle" of whose little bell sounded more distinct and shrill than ever in the fresh cold air. Herbert's father stopped for a moment to speak to a neighbour. When he went on again and reached his son, the little boy was looking intently towards the top of a distant hill, called in that neighbourhood, "The Druids' Altar." "What do you see there, my son?" asked Mr. Ramsden. "Oh nothing, papa, I was only thinking." "And what were your thoughts doing, on the top of that hill?" "Well, papa," said Herbert, smiling, "they were B trying to build up the old altar and see how it looked." 66 Ah, my boy, that is happily a difficult task; we cannot imagine in these Christian days the horrors of those times, and the fearful sacrifices which we know were sometimes offered in places like that." "Children were burnt there, were they not, papa ? "Yes, and men and women too, on grand occasions, or after a war." 66 Suppose, papa, I was thinking, we were all going up there for one of those horrid sacrifices, instead of walking as we are to chapel and church! But it really does not seem as if, in this very place, there could have been such things. And only to think that we are the children of those people!" "Not quite so fast, Herbert, we are not their children after all." Herbert looked astonished, “ Why, were they not Britons?" "Yes, but, you know, we are not. The Saxons drove the Britons out, and we are descended from the Saxons." "Ah, so we are; did they bring in Christianity, then?" "Why, what are you thinking of-don't you remember in the lecture the other night we were told that the Britons in this neighbourhood are believed to have become Christians, when the Saxons came and established heathenism in the land again?" "Oh, yes, I ought not to have forgotten, especially as you let me sit up past my usual bed-time to hear the lecture; but some of it was very dry. I will try, now, not to forget again." "Well, there are some monuments which will help you to remember." THE SEVEN MONUMENTS. 3 "Why, what, papa? I never knew that there were any monuments of idolatry here, but that old Druids' altar." "I assure you that you do know of them very well, Herbert." "What, have I ever seen them?" "No." "How can I know about them then?" "I often hear you mention their names.' "What, talk about altars I never saw!-you are joking, papa." "I am not joking: but I said monuments, not altars." "Are they pillars then?" "No." "Oh, I give it up." "What is a monument, Herbert? That will help you." "Why, a pillar, or an altar, or "Or anything else that helps to remind you of events that once happened. Words are sometimes monuments." "I never thought of that." "Are there no words, now, which you often use, that may help to remind you of the times of Saxon idolatry? "I do not know." "I must help you then. The words are names-- seven names. The names of days." "Oh yes, I see now. SUNDAY, MONDAY, TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY, THURSDAY, FRIDAY, SATURDAY. I have read all about it in my history; but never thought of the names as monuments before. Why, these do better to remind us of our fathers having been idolaters than that Druids' altar." "To be sure; people are always using these words, but they do not often look at, or think of, the Druids' altar. Then that pile of stones will crumble away in time, or its history be forgotten, but these names will be always fresh." "Not if Ephraim Hewlett, who goes to school with me, has his way. He says it is wrong to call the days of the week after idols, and that we ought to say First-day, Second-day, and so on. I am puzzled sometimes for a minute to know what day he means." "Well, I would say to Ephraim that it may do us good in one way to use the names. We do not mean to honour the idols, of course. And it may be well for us often to be made to think of the gods our fathers served, that we may be more thankful that our lot is cast in times like these. When little Ellie ran up to me this morning with her joyous cry, "It is Sunday, papa! the very words made me feel grateful that we do not, like our fathers, devote the first day of the week to the Sun-though it does often seem to shine with double brightness on the Sabbath-but to Him who made it, and who is himself the Sun of righteousness. Well, Herbert, we are almost at the chapel gate. Remember, this is Missionary Sunday. Pay all attention, and when you hear of the heathen in distant lands, think of the heathen once in our own, and do heartily what you can to send all over the earth that "good news which has brought such happiness to us in our own dear England. It so happened that the first hymn sang that morning had the verse in it "Oh what a night was that which wrapt The sinful world in gloom! Oh what a SUN, which rose, this day Herbert glanced at his father when it was given out. |