Little Folks

"The Lord be with thee, thou mighty man of valour," he said, addressing Gideon. But Gideon's sad heart gave no responsive throb. Tall and powerful as he was, and strong as was his arm, he felt as he thought of the fierce Arab sheiks but like a puny dwarf, who must sit down helplessly and suffer.

"Thou shalt go in this thy might that I have sent thee," the heavenly visitant continued; "and thou shalt save Israel from the Midianites."

"But, my lord," remonstrated Gideon, in conscious weakness and deep humility, "how shall I ever be able to save Israel? I but belong to the tribe of Manasseh, that has never taken the lead amongst the Twelve, and even of my father's family I am not an important member."

Gideon thought that to overcome the terrible invader God must needs raise up some tall giant, big as Og, the King of Bashan. But he was soon to learn that the weak things of this world are used to confound the mighty.

"I will be with thee," the Angel of the Lord said, "and thou shalt smite the hosts of Midian as one man."

The wondrous Being, in His great condescension, gave Gideon a sign that He would fulfil His word, and by his hands save Israel from the dreaded foe. He touched with his staff the rock on which Gideon had placed his offering; and fire came out and consumed both the flesh and the sweet cakes, and then He disappeared.

Then Gideon blew his trumpet, and the Israelites came out of their holes, and rallied round him in great numbers. But still his heart failed; for he could not recall his truant thoughts from the wolf-like Arab chiefs, nor help contrasting his half-starved men who had suffered so long from cruel oppression and famine with their strong sons of the desert.

In his self-distrust he asked for two signs more, and God gave them to him. First, a fleece of wool was saturated in the night with dew while the ground all around was dry; and the next night the fleece was dry while the ground was wet.

Thus re-assured, Gideon assembled his followers for the battle; but by God's directions their number was reduced to only three hundred.

"By these three hundred men," God said, "will I save Israel, and deliver the Midianites into thine hands."

Gideon encamped, with his three hundred men, by the spring of Jezreel, on the slope of Mount Gilboa; while, on the north side of the valley, but farther down the descent to the Jordan, was drawn up the host of Midian.

From the height on which he stood Gideon could see the Midianites below, spread over the land like countless grasshoppers. Only three hundred weak men to face the wild Arabs with whom the valley was teeming! Would his little handful of followers indeed be able to overcome them? he wondered within himself. For though he believed God, who had brought Israel through the Red Sea, still deep down in his heart, and unexpressed, was a misgiving. And God, who does not scorn the littleness of a sincere man's faith, but rather tries to increase it, gave him, unasked and unexpected, another sign.

"Go down to the host," God said to him in the night; "for I have delivered it into thine hand. But, if thou art afraid, go down first with Phurah, thy servant, and hear what they say; and then shall thine heart be strengthened for the battle."

So Gideon took Phurah, his servant, crept softly down the slope of the mountain, and went along, under cover of the darkness, till he came close enough to the outside of the Midianites' camp to hear any conversation that might be going on.

The Arab host lay wrapped in deep sleep, whilst, all around, their reposing camels were couched on the ground; and not a sound was to be heard.

Presently, in one of the tents, in which lay two Midianites, there was a slight movement. Gideon heard that one of them was waking the other, and he drew near to listen.

"I have had such a dream," the disturbed sleeper said to his companion, when he had roused him. "I dreamed that a cake of barley bread tumbled into the host of Midian, and, rolling against a tent, overturned it, so that it lay on the ground."

And his companion, who understood the dream better than himself, replied in low tones, that told how great was his fear:—"This is nothing else save the sword of Gideon; for into his hand hath God delivered Midian and all the host."

The two weary men turned over and fell asleep again, trying to forget the warning that they had received of the fate that awaited them. But Gideon brightened up. His faith waxed strong, and he grasped his sword tightly, feeling that whilst it was his sword it was pre-eminently "the sword of the Lord."

He knew well the meaning of the dream—that the small round cake of barley, which was inferior to wheat, and was a symbol of weakness, was his own weak, insignificant self; and that, just as this tiny cake upset a tent thousands of times bigger than itself and firmly fastened to the ground with strong cords and long pegs, so by his weak arm the mighty host, that now lay asleep, would be overthrown.

Re-ascending the valley he gave orders to his men, went down, and fell upon the unsuspecting host, and with his few followers gained one of the greatest victories ever won by the Israelites.

Before long, the proud kings, Zeba and Zalmunna, and their two fierce princes, the Raven and the Wolf, with all their followers, lay in the silence and helplessness of death; and the land, that had been so long and so cruelly oppressed was freed from the formidable Arab invaders.

H. D.

BIBLE EXERCISES FOR SUNDAY AFTERNOONS

13. Where does Jesus tell us that those who do the will of God are to Him as brother, sister, and mother?

14. Where are we told that a brother is born for adversity?

15. Where is God said to be "slow to anger"?

16. From what passage in the New Testament is it seen that John the Baptist followed the custom of the Jewish rabbis in giving his disciples a form of prayer?

17. Where are we told that an angry man stirs up strife, while one who is slow to anger appeases it?

18. Where do we read that he who is slow to anger is better than the mighty?

19. Where in the Bible is Adam called "the son of God"?

20. From what passage in the New Testament do we see that Rahab became the mother of the line from which David sprang?

21. Where does God call the rainbow "My bow"?

22. Where are rainbows mentioned in the New Testament?

23. What women are mentioned as ministering, with others, to the temporal wants of Jesus?

24. Where are we assured that the Keeper of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps?

ANSWERS TO BIBLE EXERCISES (1-12. See p. 20)

1. The Feeding of the Five Thousand (St. Matt, xiv. 15-21; St Mark vi. 35-44; Luke ix. 12-17; St. John vi. 5-14.)

2. Shechem (Judges ix. 34, 45).

3. Eleven; the leper healed on our Lord's descent from the Mount of Beatitudes (St. Matt. viii. 1-4; St. Mark 1. 40-45; St. Luke v. 12-15); and the ten lepers, on the borders of Samaria and Galilee (St. Luke xvii. 11-19).

4. It was given to him by David, who had received it from God (1 Chron. xxviii. 11-19).

5. In Ps. xlii. 11; and xliii. 5.

6. In the boat, on the rising of the storm, on the Sea of Galilee (St. Matt viii. 24; St. Mark. iv. 38; St. Luke viii. 23).

7. In Acts 1. 14.

8. In 2 Chron. 1. 3, 4; 1 Chron. xv. 1; 2 Sam. vi. 17.

9. At Gibeon (1 Chron. xvi. 39).

10. In 1 Kings iii. 4-15; 2 Chron. 1. 3-6.

11. In 2 Kings xiv. 25.

12. "And when they were put to death," &c. (Acts xxvi. 10).

THE CHILDREN'S LIGHT BRIGADE

Jack and Willie, and little maid MayWent down to the summer sea;And it's merry and gay for a long holiday,But what is their game to be?They were tired of building castlesWhen serious Johnny said—"Now what do you say, supposing we playThe Charge of the Light Brigade?"This old umbrella that's been our tentWill serve for a cannon—of course;You two must play the Light Brigade,And I'll be the Russian Force."Willie and May ran up the beach,Then charged straight down on Jack;But Jack dropped cleverly on one knee,And drove the onset back.Again and again the charge came onWith a rush and a ringing cheer,But Jack and the old umbrellaStood firm, and knew no fear."Charge for the guns!" cried Willie once more,There's a crack, and a moment afterThe Russians (that's Jack) are rolled in the sand,Amid shouts of conquering laughter.Said Jack as he rose, "This isn't quiteAccording to the story;We'll have this play again some dayWe've done enough for glory."Robert Richardson.

SOME FAMOUS RAILWAY TRAINS AND THEIR STORY

By Henry Frith

II.—THE "WILD IRISHMAN."

The "Wild Irishman" is the train which carries the Irish mails, the American letter-bags, from Holyhead to London, and vice versâ. There are four "Irishmen," two in the daytime and two at night. The morning Irish mail from London leaves Euston Square at a quarter-past seven, and it is by this train which we have elected to travel, as we shall see the country better.

Here we are at Euston. The engine is already attached to the train—a fine, rather elegant-looking locomotive, with its name on a neat brass plate on the great "driving" wheel. Perhaps we shall find it called the "Lady of the Lake," or "Rokeby." At any rate, it looks very neat and clean, though not such a giant as our friend the "Dutchman."

If your eyes are sharp and you are fond of engines, and like to "pat" them, as I do, you will notice that the cranks and piston-rods work outside the wheels, not between them, and underneath the boiler, as in the Great Western engines. You will have just time to look at the wheels and the name when the man on the platform will wave his flag, and the "Irishman" will start very gently. As we are quite invisible, we just step up beside the driver as the engine moves, and he knows nothing about us. Ha! ha! Mr. Driver; but we intend to know something about your "Wild Irishman!"

Our driver and fireman ("stoker," perhaps you call the latter) are very great men. They have a great deal done for them. Do you think they light the fire and polish the engine? Do you think they go and take in coal and water at Crewe, or elsewhere, while they wait for a "return" train? Oh dear no! Another pair of men are ready, and our "mail-men" go and sit in the drivers' "cabin" and have their tea, and chat till the train is ready to start again.

It is not at all a bad position, though a very responsible one, to be an engine-driver on the London and North-Western Railway, particularly when you have worked yourself up to the "top of the tree." I could tell you many anecdotes of this railway, on which I lived for many years; but we must not forget the "Wild Irishman" has run through Camden Town, and is even now in the Primrose Hill tunnel.

It is very unpleasant being in a tunnel for the first time on an engine. The noise is very great, and the smoke and water come down at times unpleasantly. The end of the tunnel looks so tiny in the sunlight beyond, and the opening gradually gets larger and larger till the engine rushes out into the pure air again!

On we go! Stopping for a few minutes at Willesden Junction, our Irish horse pulls harder, and bolts with us for Rugby and some intermediate stations. It is just half-past seven a.m., a beautiful day. There is Harrow on the left, we can see the well-known spire, and we recall the days when we came up for the cricket-match against Eton, and how we all went back in a body after the match.

Before we reach Watford, we come to the peculiar water arrangement by which the thirsty engines are enabled to have a drink as they rush along. Between the rails for a considerable distance is a tank, and into this tank a pipe is let down from the tender of the engine. The speed at which the train travels causes the water to be forced up the pipe, and the supply of steam is assured.

Watford, named from the Roman road "Watling Street," which ran from Dover through London northwards, is near St. Albans, renowned in English history. But the "Wild Irishman" will not wait for us; he rushes through the tunnel and by Berkhampstead to Bletchley, where he pauses for a minute or two. We have scarcely time to look about when we are off again, past Wolverton, where the North-Western Company make their railway carriages, and where they used to repair their engines. We run not very far from Naseby after a while, and think of the great battle between Charles and Cromwell's troops. What would they think of our "Wild Irishman"? I wonder.

Rugby is passed; Atherstone, near which was the great Battle of Bosworth Field, lies behind us now. The struggle for the crown between Richard and Richmond may be recalled, but we have no time to examine the field seven miles away. We have to get to Crewe at eleven o'clock, and so we shall. We run through Stafford-on-the-Sowe, a town celebrated as the birthplace of Izaak Walton. The castle was demolished, like many others, in the Civil War.

A long whistle warns us that Crewe is in sight, and before long we enter the station, through which more than 200 trains pass daily. Here are the celebrated Locomotive Works, which employ an army of workmen, for whose children there are schools and playgrounds, with church, library, and assembly-room for the whole railway working population.

A visit to Crewe to see the great engines will repay any little folk who like machinery.

From Crewe to Chester is half an hour's run, and as we approach the old city on the Dee we feel wrapped in history. Such a history has Chester that we are afraid to enter upon it for fear we should be carried away, and lose ourselves wandering around the dear old walls, towers, gates, and ramparts. The Danes came here; the Saxons made it a port. Hugh Lupus, at the Conquest, resided here. The city was made the starting-point for expeditions against the Welsh by Edward I. Besieged by the Parliament—but no more; the "Wild Irishman" whistles, and we must go to you, my lad.

Hawarden Castle is close by. It was at one time of importance as a fortress. It now derives its celebrity from its owner, Mr. Gladstone, for the castle itself has almost disappeared. We soon pass Holywell, so called from the holy well which sprang from the place where Princess Winifrede's head fell. Caradoc, a Welsh prince, wickedly cut it off, and it rolled down the hill. Where it stopped the spring burst forth; and the head being picked up was placed on Miss Winifrede's body again. It became fixed, and she lived for many years afterwards, a little red mark round her white throat being the only token of her decapitation! So the story goes.

We are now approaching Abergele, near which such a terrible accident happened to the Irish mail in 1868. Some trucks had been shunted from a train in front, and they, by some mistake, came running down the hill to meet the "Irishman." The driver saw them, and the shock was not severe, but unfortunately they were filled with oil barrels, which broke open, the petroleum caught fire, and in two minutes all the fore part of the train was enveloped in flames.

Nothing could be done; the poor people in the carriages—lords and ladies and gentlemen—were burned, and with difficulty any escaped. This was a fearful catastrophe, and quite puts aside any ordinary accidents which (not a few) have happened to the "Wild Irishman."

Let us leave the scene and come on to Llandudno Junction and Conway Castle, by which is the first "Tubular Bridge." We have all heard of Conway Castle, founded by Edward I. If you little folk ever go to Conway be sure and see the castle, and go all over the thick walls, which will afford you a pretty view.

But I have something else to tell you about Conway "Tube"—the bridge through which the railway runs over the river.

Once upon a time—a good many years ago—a lady and gentleman got permission to walk through the new tubular bridge, which was then a curiosity. A railway porter was with them and told them no train was expected on that line, so they went into the tube and darkness.

A strange gentleman who had joined them went on first because the lady could not go so quickly, and of course her husband remained to assist her over the rails, and stones, and the girders which support the sides.

But when the lady and gentleman had got halfway through, the first man was at the end, and saw the down Irish mail approaching on the very line on which his acquaintances were! He called out—

"Take care of yourselves, a train is coming!" and then he waved his hands to the engine-driver.

The lady and gentleman in the "tube" could not stand up at the side, and so they hurried back. It was a terrible race. The "Wild Irishman" whistling and roaring, hissing and straining at the brakes close behind; in front only a few yards to the station, but such long yards! On came the train, and just as the gentleman rushed from the "tube" and dragged the lady down, the express came out grinding and growling. They were only just saved by two yards from a terrible death.

Now let me tell you something else. The year after that nearly fatal accident, I—the writer of this anecdote—was visiting the "Britannia" Tubular Bridge which crosses the Menai Straits, and through which the "Wild Irishman" rushes on its way to Holyhead. I was with my parents, and we talked to the caretaker at the bridge.

"Yes, sir," he said, "it is dangerous to go into the tubes. We do not allow it now. Last year a lady and gentleman were nearly killed in the Conway tube. I was the guard of the mail train; they had a very narrow escape."

"What became of the tipsy porter who guided them in?" asked my father.

"He lay flat down, and the train went over him—he was dismissed—but how did you know, sir?"

"Because this lady and myself were the two people who were in the tube," said my father. "I assure you we remember the incident very well indeed."

That is what most people would, call a "curious coincidence," and it is, moreover, quite true.

But we are nearing Holyhead. Our "Wild Irishman" has not far to run now. We are through the "Britannia" bridge, upon whose unfinished summit we have raced on slippery plates of iron, one hundred feet above the straits, and gazed down into the Menai waters beneath, as the ships went up almost touching the tube apparently. Ah! this was many years ago, and even now as we rattle on we can recall the scene and shiver.

Away by Llanfair—something—a long Welsh word—away by the lake and the river; over the marsh comes the scent of the sea, and then in ten minutes the "Wild Irishman" walks down the pier. Mail-bags are put on board the steamer; passengers hurry down; the carriage doors are shut. The paddle-wheels revolve; we quit the harbour of Holyhead, and lose sight of the "Wild Irishman."

MASTER TOM'S "RAINY WEATHER."

"Ettie," said Master Tom, "do you like to be naughty or good?"

"Naughty," replied Ettie promptly.

Ettie was five years old, and Master Tom nine.

Ettie and Master Tom were at the far end of the kitchen-garden, going through the gate that led into a small paddock, when Ettie suddenly said—

"Pigs."

"Where?" exclaimed Master Tom.

"Poor pigs in pen all shut up," answered Ettie.

"What a shame!" said Master Tom. "I say, Mrs. Pig, wouldn't you like your little piggies to have a run this fine day?

"There's grass around in plentyFor the little ones to eat,And in the kitchen-gardenThere's cabbage for a treat.

Now, Ettie, get out of the way; I am going to open the door of the pigstye."

And Master Tom threw the door wide open, and out rushed not only the ten little pigs, but Mrs. Pig herself. They came with such a rush that Ettie, not getting out of the way quickly enough, was knocked down. But she did not cry; for she was used to falling in her expeditions with Tom.

Through the garden gate, into the garden, over the beds, went the pigs, and after them went Master Tom and Ettie, driving them until they went into the middle of the crisp early cabbages.

"Now then, eat to your hearts' content," said Master Tom. "Eat away, eat away! How they do enjoy themselves; there won't be a cabbage left. Won't Joseph be surprised. Let us get up into the great pear-tree and watch them. You can climb up if I push you."

"Yes," responded Ettie, grasping the trunk and putting her foot on a jutting-out knob.

"That's famous," said Master Tom, as he helped his little sister up until he landed her in one of the highest boughs.

"Isn't it nice?" said he.

And he began swaying the branches to and fro, whilst Ettie held on tightly and laughed with delight.

"Oh dear! oh dear! how can the pigs have got in?"

"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried Master Tom from the pear-tree, mimicking the gardener's voice.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried Ettie in her shrill voice.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" said Joseph in dismay; "the children up in the pear-tree such a height; they'll tumble down and break their necks. Oh, Master Tom, Master Tom, whatever did you go up there for, and take little Missy with you? What shall I do?—the pigs, the children, the children, the pigs! I daren't leave the children; and yet if I don't go after the pigs the garden will be ruined. Oh, my lettuces, my peas, my cauliflowers, my fine young cabbages!"

And then Joseph suddenly raised his voice and shouted as loud as he could—

"Help! help! help! Hallo! hallo! hallo!"

In a few seconds out came several of the servants, and amongst them was Nurse. "Oh! what is the matter?" she cried; "is it Master Tom again?"

"I should think it was," said Joseph; "he's in the pear-tree, and Miss Ettie's with him. Jack, get a ladder to get her out of the tree."

Jack, the boy, went off, and now the branches were seen to sway backwards and forwards, the two children chuckling with delight.

"And here I come first," said Master Tom, suddenly descending in so rapid a manner that he seemed to tumble down amongst the group, and, stumbling against Joseph, the gardener was tripped up and fell to the ground.

Nurse tried to seize upon Master Tom, who, however, shook himself free, leaving it to Joseph and the boy to get Ettie out of the pear-tree.

II

When Nurse returned to the house with Ettie the first thing she saw was the turf beneath the nursery window strewn with every possible thing that Master Tom could find. He himself was looking out of the nursery window with an armful of Ettie's frocks and sashes, which he aimed at Nurse and her charge as they came nearer the house.

"Oh dear! shan't I be glad when you go back to school, Master Tom. Here's an hour's good work for me in carrying back all these things."

And Nurse wrathfully ascended to the nursery, but Master Tom was not there.

"Well," said Nurse, "it's a good thing he's gone off by himself, and not got Miss Ettie with him. You stay here and play with your dolls, and I'll run down and pick up your frocks and shoes."

So Nurse, having settled Ettie with her playthings, departed.

But she had not been gone a minute before Master Tom put his head in at the door.

"Ettie," said he, "come down into the drawing-room, and we'll have the greatest fun in the world. I've got a large umbrella and water-bottles, so we'll play at rainy weather."

Up jumped Ettie.

"Hush! don't make a noise, or some one will hear us. Come very softly."

And Ettie, on tiptoes, followed Tom to the drawing-room, where, having locked the door, he provided Ettie with a large umbrella.

"Now sit down on the floor," said he, "and hold it over you. You must pretend that it is a rainy day, and that you are obliged to shelter under it."

Down went Ettie on the floor, and up went the umbrella.

"Now," continued Master Tom (who had borrowed a pair of high boots so that, at least, he should not get wet), "I shall pour water over the umbrella and it will splash down like rain. You must say, 'What a dreadful day! What a dreadful storm!'"

"Yes," answered Ettie. "Splash, splash, splash! what a storm! what a storm!"

And down came the water, splashing Ettie's velvet frock and wetting her shoes, and making pools on the drawing-room carpet. What fun it was! so Master Tom thought, and so did Ettie; and the more he emptied the water-bottles the more they both shouted with glee.

Guided by the noise, Nurse soon arrived at the door.

"Open the door! open the door!"