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MISCELLANEOUS. Christian's must be Thoughtful
29 A Burning and Shining Light
29 The Martyr Missionary and his
Bunyan and the Bishop..... Widow Mother ..........
41 A Good-natured Old Farmer .. The Old Bridge over the Brook 53 John Newton in his Old Age... Sin and cruelty of evil speaking 65
no 65 Believer .......
1 teenth Century ......
Long Sermons ............ 95 and Scotch Ragged Schools 137
Perfection of the Creator's works 107
Why art thou cast down? .... 107 POETRY.
Gossip .................... Pages, 8, 21, 34, 46, 58, 82, 118, 129 Spirits of the Just made perfect 119 ! ANECDOTES & SELECTIONS. STLECTIONS. Kindness .................
Your Little Self ............ Burning of an Australian Steamer 9
Fear and love ...............
“ Every One of You”........ Always Ready ............
“There is another man" .. A Poor Pious Woman ....
Before Honour goeth Humility A Profane Coachman.....
To shake off Trouble........ Epitaph on a Gravestone in the
Preaching ................ 132 Churchyard of Bolton ....
The Teetotal Monkey ...... 141 A Swearer Subdued ..
THE FIRESIDE. Readiness for Death
Pages, 12, 24, 36, 48, 60, 72, Feeling and Faith ...
84, 96, 108, 120, 132, 141 A Primitive Saint ........
THE PENNY POST BOX.
96, 109, 121, 133, 142 What is God ...
46 FACTS, HINTS, GEMS, &c. The Text that took hold .... 47
Facts, 14, 26, 38, 50, 62, 74,86, Pulling out Teeth ..........
98, 110, 122, 134, 143 Extraordinary Bible ........
Hints, 14, 26, 38, 60, 62, 74, Books ....................
, 86, 98, 110, 122, 134, 143 “Saving" Faith .........
Gems, 15, 27, 39, 51, 63, 75, The Precious Blood of Christ
87, 99, 111, 123, 135, 143 Epitaph on the Tombstone of
Poetic Selections, 15,27,39,51, Jolin Wesley's father ......
63, 75, 87, 99, 111, 123, 135, 144 Blasphemy of Popery......... Sin and its Punishment...... 71
CHILDREN'S CORNER. The Christian's Danger...... 71 Pages, 16, 28, 40, 52, 64, 76, True Religion...............
88, 100, 112, 124, 136, 144
TUMMUS AND HIS WIFE BETTY.
A SPECIMEN OF NATURAL ELOQUENCE.
I am not a Methodist, neither am I fond of popular excitement; but when I am from home, I prefer visiting any place of worship which I find open to spending the evening at my inn. Owing to this habit, I have often heard a sermon from a local preacher, and occasionally have found myself at a lovefeast-as a spectator of course. During my journies in the North of England, I have thus heard some bursts of real and natural eloquence, which deserve to be known and preserved. I am quite sure that I shall do justice to the facts of these instances, but I am afraid not to the language ; for my knowledge of the provincial dialects is only superficial.
The last love-feast that I witnessed was distinguished by the presence of some eminent ministers, whose names would be a sure pledge that all was decorum and solemnity in the vast assembly. In the midst of two thousand people, a MINER, “grimed and gruff,” arose, evidently of his own accord, and addressed the Superintendent to this effect:
“I wur, Sur, till laately, the biggest rogue o' a' PWoife and I lived loike cat and dog; wors na'them: 'twur a | word and a blow-a blow and a word, all th' day long-all th' | year long. I did nowt but brake th' Almeeghty's command
ments. I was th' terror o' th’ toon, and th' curs of whoame. | One neet ( wur passing th' Methode chappel, and pept in.
They wur a-praying for ould John, 'at he moight be saved. He wur freeghtened for his sowl to be lost. I thowght-ye hair more need to pray for moine; moine's blackest. I thowght I mun pray for myse'll. I thowght, and thowghtand cudna help 'a-thinking.
I went whoame to woife. "Betty,' says !, 'I mun pray for my poor sowl, lass.'
Eh, Tummus, ’u pray! 'u kenst nowght o'praying mon ! Let t' Parson pray ; its bis traide. 'Twould set thee better to moiude thy work, and drink less.
• Betty,' says I, • I mun pray or perish. My poor sowl mun be lost-lost for ever, an' I dunna pray for mercy.'
* Tummus, Tummus; ’u is turning Methode, I fear me; or ! 'u is tipsey or craazy, mon.'
TUMMUS AND HIS WIFE BETTY.
'Betty,' says I, • Ize nowgbt o' the kind, lass. I have been wors-loike a devil. And what mun become o' my poor sowl?'
I tried to pray that neeght, but could mak nowght on't at all. I went next Sunday to th’ Methode chappel-a-thinking and thinking. T'parson meeght o'known me. Tsarmant wur all to I. I got summat as stuck i' my heart. I saw I wur lost i' my sins—an' I wur th' biggest reprobat out o' hell.
I cumd whoame at neeght in a sweat o' fear. “Betty,' says I, I mun pray, and 'u mun pray, lass. U’s poor sowl is lost too! We mun perish, woife, an' we dunna pray now.'
• Tummus, Tummus, what has cumd o'er thee, mon? Thou'rt turning mad Methode. U' freeghtens me. I canna' pray. U' canna' pray. We mun hear t' parson read prayers, an' it mun be so. Go to bed—there, do.'
• Betty, Betty, I canna' sleep; I mun pray, lass; an’'u mun try wi' me this blessed neeght.'
But Betty w’uld not pray at all. I went to chappel again, and heard summat as ga' me hope. God's word said as how the blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin. This wur what I wanted. It mak me think an' think, I don't know how. It wur just the thing for my poor sowl. I wur convarted by that blood on the cross. I wur all ouer happy in Jesus; as happy as a cricket all t'day long.
Then I thowght, an' the Lord would convart Betty too, we should be as happy as crickets ever after! An'so, I prayed and prayed that the Lord would convart Betty as weel. And so she begin'd to think it wur summat good, to mak me so better as it did. An' so she went to chappel, an' got summat as stuck in ur' heart too. The Lord convarted Betty! And now, blessed be Jesus, we are happy as crickets all t'day long. 'Twur a word and a blow, and a blow and a word all afore; but now we lives and loves loike man and woife should do. So I thowght I mun tell ye here what God has done for ar poor sowls.''
The effect of this narrative was electrical on the immense auditory: it was irresistible. The terms were uncouth, but the tones of the miner's voice-bis perfect simplicity of manner -his self-evident integrity and cordiality, carried all hearts along with him. I myself
“Albeit unused to the melting mood," wept like a child. Even the philosophical Samuel Drew was overpowered. When he regained his composure, he whispered
TUMMUS AND HIS WIFE BETTY.
to me, « Such natural eloquence was never surpassed, in manner or effect."' “ Ouly by the old Cobler on B- Moo ," I whispered, in answer; " when his sermon on the Prodigal Son made all his audience start to their feet at once, in tears.":
Yes: there is much fuss made about eloquence, but what is real eloquence after all? It is not putting a lot of grand long words together; no, no, that is not eloquence. It is bombast.
Real eloquence is the utterance of the heart expressed in suitable words. It is telling what you have to say in your own plain every day language, and letting your own heart go along with what you are then saying. That is true eloquence wbich makes other people feel what you are telling them, until their hearts are drawn out to go along with yours. Nothing else is worth calling eloquence; for this is the eloquence of the heart, which is the best of all eloquence. The eloquence of the lip dies away, but the eloquence of the heart remains. Not one of all that large assembly of people would ever forget poor Tummus's tale about himself and Betty.
I have heard, during the past fifty years, nearly all the most eloquent men in England, whether in the senate, or the pulpit, or at the bar, but I never heard one, not even Henry Brougham or Robert Hall, who displayed more eloquence than a woman. If you ask me who she was I cannot tell you. But it was that young mother who was talking to her first-born baby as it lay smiling up at her on her lap. They were in the house alone, and the mother thought she might now say all that was in her beart, and she did. Out came the words—mother's words every one of them. “Oh, you sweet ! you joy! you darling! you beauty! you lovely creature !” And on she went with a whole torrent of rapturous exclamations, while her little cherub cooed and smiled and spluttered responsive approbation of all she said.
That was a young mother's natural eloquence arising from her intense affection for her darling child. But Tummus's eloquence sprang up from a deeper source than even that. He felt that his soul had been saved from sinking into endless ruin. The thought of this filled his whole being. He must tell all that two thousand people what God had done for his soul; and how the blood of Jesus Christ his son had cleansed
him from all sin; and he must tell all this in his own way, and that was the right way and the best way.
READER! Have you ever felt as Tummus did? If you bave not you are not safe. Seek for salvation, as Tummus did, and you will find it. Then go, as he did, and fearing the face of no man,
* Tell to sinners round
"MIGHTY TO SAVE.”
BURDENED with a load of guilt,