word of God, or from any idea of the consoling promises which it offers to the afflicted, or of the hopes which beam from its pages on dying man, that John wished to see it; but he had a good degree of intelligence, and he thought he should derive information and amusement from such a book. He thought, too, that he might perhaps contrive to learn to read; and thus some employment be afforded for his weary hours. He procured the desired book, and his next aim was to procure a reader. By offering to a little girl, who attended a Sunday-school in the village, the reward of an occasional apple or a halfpenny, he secured her frequent services; and the child would sit reading for hours by the bed-side of the afflicted man. John looked over the book while she did this, and made her frequently tell him the words as she read them. During her absence, he looked at the words again, and thus impressed them on his memory. He would then turn to other chapters of the Testament, and search out the same words, till he knew them readily when ever he saw them, until he found himself able to read with tolerable ease, although unable to name the letters of the alphabet, or to spell a syllable. The ingenuity which led to the adoption of this plan of learning to read, proves that John had good natural talents. This untaught man thus practised a mode of learning which has of late years been much used in Sunday and other schools, and which was greatly introduced to the public notice by Gall. It is now well known by the familiar name of the "Look and Say" system, and is well adapted for the instruction of those who have but little leisure, and with whom it is of great importance to be able to read as soon as possible. The first chapter which the little girl selected for her reading, was the third chapter of the Gospel of St. John; and certainly no one more suitable could have been chosen. She was probably induced to read this, by being well acquainted with the chapter, as it is one which Sunday-school teachers often desire the children to learn. But let us not say that it was mere accident which led to the selection. God, who designed to make this poor man an instance of his sovereign mercy, not only put into his heart the desire to learn to read, but ordered all the circumstances to produce this result. And now what a new world of ideas seemed opening upon the mind of John, while the little girl read the Scripture! A ruler of the Jews, a man of influence in that nation, was told by Christ, "Verily I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." Nicodemus did not understand this, neither did John understand it. But our Saviour explained it to this master in Israel, and told him that the influence of God's Spirit, though coming on the heart of man so imperceptibly as to be like the wind, which we see not, and of which no sound is heard, yet comes with power, quickening the heart of man, and breathing into it thoughts of God, and belief and love of that Redeemer who was crucified for fallen man. Many times did the little girl read the chapter to the earnest listener, and how delightful seemed to him such blessed truths as these: "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved," v. 16, 17. And so, thought this poor man to himself, it is God's will that I should be saved. Christ really died for the very purpose of saving sinners such as I. Oh blessed gospel, truly is it good news to man! He The New Testament soon became the delight and constant companion of the invalid, and gradually the truths which it contains were unfolded to his mind, by the teachings of the Holy Spirit. His thoughts, his words, his actions, all became influenced by them. He could now come to his heavenly Father, and tell him of all that was in his heart; of pain of body, of anxiety of mind, of sorrow for sin, of weakness and infirmities. felt that while doing so he was holding real communion with God; he felt sure that he was a pardoned sinner, and dwelt with delight on the promise of God, "Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." How happy now was this poor man! It is true that he had a crippled body, but his spirit soared far away from these earthly things. He could say with the apostle, "Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal." Now it is not possible for a man's heart to be full of any one subject, and for his lips to be always silent upon it. As the Scripture says, "Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh:" and so we see it in the daily intercourse of life. The man of science delights to speak of his discoveries, and hails with pleasure an indication of sympathy or curiosity in others. The affectionate mother is never weary of speaking of her children; the schoolboy tells of his sports, and the frivolous and vain discourse on subjects of idle vanity. The man whose heart is fixed on heavenly things speaks of them too; and John often now spoke of the Bible and its blessed truths, to all who visited him. The great change which had taken place in the character of the once bold and profane smuggler, soon became known in the village; it excited the interest of a pious person in the neighbourhood, who came and conversed often with John on the subject of religion. By this person the circumstances of the poor man were also made known to several persons at C., and soon many pious friends came to sympathize with his feelings, and to administer to his temporal comforts; and never did any Christian visit that bed-side without taking away a heart full of love and gratitude to God, as he saw that the Bible, and the Bible only, had been blessed by him to the conversion of this man. A gentleman from London, who occasionally visited C., and from whom the writer of this narrative received this account, one day walked over to the village to visit John. He found him able to read the Bible correctly and fluently, and listened with pleasure to his perusal of one of the Psalms of David, and one of Dr. Watts's hymns. The poor man expressed his great longing to be useful, to do something for that Saviour who had done so much for him; but he felt that, confined as he was to his couch, his means of usefulness was very limited. He added, that a lady in the village had kindly offered to teach him to write, in order that he might correspond with his friends, or write to his former companions, to endeavour to persuade them to forsake sin. John seemed afraid lest he could not overcome the difficulties of learning, but this gentleman much urged him to make the attempt. It was not until the following summer that the gentleman again saw him, and he was much gratified at finding that he had succeeded in learning to write. "But ah, sir," said John, "I cannot tell you how difficult it was, for I had to learn my letters, and to learn also to spell; and I was afraid, for a time, that I could never do this." He afterwards wrote a letter to this gentleman, which was both well spelled and very well written. The room in which John lay had a window looking out upon the village, and near it ran a clear and beautiful spring, to which the villagers came to draw water. "There, sir," said John, as I lie and look at that spring, I often think of the fulness of Christ. All the people of the village come to it to get water. They are continually coming, but it is never exhausted: there it is, full and fresh as ever." John was perhaps thinking of that invitation of our Saviour, "If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink." The chief feature of John's character now seemed an earnest thankfulness, and a deep humility. He never forgot the Lord's song, which the redeemed are called upon by David to sing, "Oh give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good!" He gratefully acknowledged that God had brought him forth by the right way. He would often say, "Oh! where should I have been, had I not stumbled when the pistol was at my head? I am indeed a monument of God's mercy: had I died then, I must have endured eternal misery. Now, blessed be God, I am only waiting for eternal happiness. Oh, what could a poor wicked man like me have done, had not Christ died for the very chief of sinners!" He would delight to assemble in his room a band of pious friends, with whom he could join in praising God, and praying for continued mercies. Notwithstanding his invalid condition, John lived many years, and his life attested the sincerity and power of his religious principles. And when the hour came that the spirit should leave its frail tenement, it was to him an hour of joy and peace. an anticipation, even on earth, of the happiness of heaven. Then, no longer singing the song of the Lord in a strange land, he should join with other redeemed spirits in celebrating the wisdom and goodness of Him who had "led him forth by the right way, to a city of habitation." A. P. A NATURALIST'S WALKS TO THE PEAK No. III. before us, and almost within our reach, as if one of its wings was broken, and it could not rise; so well assumed have we seen this, that though aware of the bird's stratagems, we have been almost tempted to think "in this case there is merely no deception," till after leading us to some considerable distance, the bird has suddenly recovered the use of its wings and mounted aloft, leaving us gazing after it. In the meantime the young have attained a place of concealment. Mr. Selby considers these birds to have been anciently termed "egrets," from their crest of long feathers, and that it was of them that one thousand were served up at the famous feast of Nevil, archbishop of York, and not the rare species of heron, now known to naturalists by that name. (See Leland's Collectanea.) The ordinary flight of the name from the peculiar action of its wings, which never struck us so much as while watching a flock, towards evening, gently sailing along the side of one of the moorland ridges, half way between the top of mountain ridges and the base. On the ground the lapwing runs with great alertness; it searches in the soft earth for worms, various insects, and their larvæ, which constitute its food. WHILE Visiting the mountain moorlands of the Peak, few birds afforded us more pleasure in witnessing their habits, than the lapwings, or peewits, as they are there called. During the summer they breed in great numbers in the moors, colonizing favourite spots; and on the approach of winter move in vast flocks southward, towards the coast, where they continue till the hard frosts set in, when they journey still farther to the south, passing to the continent. Their return to their breeding haunts occurs in the beginning of March; and at this season they perform the most fantastic evolutions in the air, wheeling round and round, then shooting suddenly up, and as suddenly sweeping down, and again wheel-lapwing is very buoyant, and it takes its ing round or doubling, as they skim the surface of the heath. During the continuance of these aerial exercises, they utter various cries, very different from their common call, "peeweet," which, in their native wilds, sounds so mournfully. While the female is sitting upon her eggs, (four in number, placed in a slight depression on the heath,) the male keeps anxious watch, and on the approach of an intruder wheels round his head, endeavouring to distract his attention and lure him from the spot. Repeatedly has this artifice been practised towards ourselves, and so closely have the birds approached us as almost to brush our hats with their wings. While the male is thus engaged in baffling the intruder, the female silently quits her eggs, running for a short distance and then flying close to the ground, but without uttering any cry, while the 'peeweet" of the male is incessantly repeated. Unless the female be watched, it is very difficult to find the eggs; but those who supply the London markets with the eggs of this bird (called plover's eggs) from the fens of Lincolnshire and Cambridge, and the wild commons of Norfolk, are very expert in the discovery, from long practice. When the young are hatched, both parents join in their protection: if a man approaches the spot where the brood lie concealed, they put in practice every artifice, in order to decoy him away. We have often followed a lapwing uttering its plaintive cries, and fluttering along on the ground On the Peak moorlands, the red grouse birds are in tolerable abund ance. This species is peculiar to Great Britain and Ireland, not being found on the continent of Europe-a most remarkable circumstance; for there is no other British bird that is not also continental. Why the red grouse should be an exception, and thus limited in its range, we cannot tell; nor has any one, as far as we are aware, offered any theory on the subject. The black grouse is abundant in Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Russia, and is found in Germany and Switzerland. The noble capercailie, or cock of the wood, once common in the pineforests of Scotland, and now we believe re-introduced on some estates there, is common in Norway, Sweden, and the adjacent countries; and the ptarmigan of the Scottish islands is also equally spread. Of these four birds of the grouse tribe, that one should be thus restricted is certainly surprising; but so it is.* The red grouse does not affect pine * The common heath or ling of our moorlands is on the tops of this plant that the red grouse (Calluna vulgaris) is very rare in Norway, and it delights to feed. Dr. John Shaw, in his excursion forests and their precincts, like the black grouse, nor the bleak rocky mountains of Alpine elevation, like the ptarmigan. Heath-clad moorland hills, with extensive peaty tracts, not exceeding an elevation of two thousand feet above the lowlands, are its favourite abode. There it lurks in the luxuriant heather, and we have sometimes approached birds very closely before they would take wing. When thus disturbed, the grouse flies low and heavily, rapidly vibrating its whirring wings, and taking a direct course to some distant spot. It is not thus, however, that it proceeds when really alarmed-when the gun of the sportsman is heard, or the hawk is giving chase. It then flies with extreme rapidity and strength, interrupting occasionally the rapid vibrations of its wings to sail on them for a short space; and this it does more particularly when sweeping down parallel to the steep declivity of a mountain. Heavy as the red grouse is, and comparatively short as are its wings, its flight is capable of being long protracted, without any diminution of rapidity. The male and female of this species pair in January, and the female makes a rude nest under the covert of a dense bush or tuft of heath in March, depositing from eight to twelve eggs. The male does not partake with her in the duties of incubation, but yet he does not forsake her; he waits to assist her in the care and protection of the young brood when hatched, and is assiduous in his attentions. While running about, and as yet unable to fly, the young are exposed to many dangers, especially from weasels, polecats, hawks, etc.; but the parents are on the alert, and are bold in their defence, and practise various devices, much in the manner of the lapwing, to entice the intruder from the spot where they lie crouching. Even when the young are capable of flight they do not immediately separate from the parents, but still keep in their company, the old male being the leader of the party. He is now extremely watchful, and on the approach of an enemy stretches up his neck amidst the heather, and uttering a loud cackle of alarm takes wing, followed by the female and the brood; their flight is low, and in a direct line to some distant cover. At the close of the autumn several broods often associate together, and remain in through Norway, could scarcely find a specimen of this plant, through an extent of 600 miles. company during the winter. These are called packs; and, being harassed by the sportsman, are very wild and suspicious, taking flight on the least alarm. Grouseshooting commences on the 12th of August, the young birds being then strong on the wing; and so great, during that and the following month, is the havoc made among them, that were it not for the numbers reared every summer by the survivors, the extinction of this fine bird might be confidently predicted; more especially as the unfair plan of wholesale destruction is now the fashion among socalled sportsmen, who boast of the number of game bagged, which, according to the system pursued, is no proof of their skill or exertions. Often at dawn of day, on the wild moorlands in the spring, have we heard the bold challenge of the male, watching over his mate on her nest. His cry has some resemblance to the syllables, Go, go, go, go back, go back." The Scottish highlanders, however, say that the bird's call is Gaelic, and is "Co, co, co, mo-chlaidh, mo-chlaidh,"—that is, who, who, who? my sword, my sword! The grouse feeds on the tops of the heath, on the fruit and leaves of the bilberry, the trailing arbutus, and the cranberry; but where fields of oats border the moorlands, it often visits them in autumn and makes a plentiful repast. Heath is mostly found in the crops of the birds sold in the shops of the London poulterers, and sometimes oats. There is a little bird to be seen very abundantly on these moorlands, or rather, on their borders, where the stone walls appear, and vestiges of cultivation begin to be perceptible. It is the stone-chat, (Saxicola rubicola,) conspicuous for the whiteness of the sides of the neck and lower part of the back, contrasted with the black of the upper surface generally. This bird is very active and alert, flitting from stone to stone, or from furze bush to furze bush, on rapid wings, uttering at the time a sharp clicking note. It always flies close to the ground; but in the pairing season the male hovers over the furze, and utters a simple but agreeable warble to his mate. It breeds at the bottom of furze or whin bushes, and also in the crevices of walls near the ground. Mr. Selby says that this sprightly little bird remains on the moors throughout the year. This does not agree with our experience. It is not found on the Derbyshire moorlands during winter; but whether it only leaves for the more cultivated and warmer lowlands, or the more southern districts of our island, or whether it really migrates, we do not know. Certain it is, that abundant as it appears to be in these localities, (the moorlands in question,) during summer, we never saw it in winter: and, indeed, where or how it should, at that season, obtain the insects on which it feeds is more than we can tell. During winter, the storms, the cold, the deep snows, the piercing blasts on the Peak moorlands, can scarcely be conceived by those not familiar with the district at that season of the year. "Here winter holds his unrejoicing court, And through his airy hall the loud misrule THE DISCIPLE AND THE SCEPTIC. The idea which I wish to convey can probably be best illustrated by an example. We will suppose a shipwreck in which every soul perishes except two passengers, whom we will name Benignus and Contumax. With nothing saved but their lives, they are cast upon the rocky shore of a desert island, where there is no prospect to cheer the eye, and neither vegetable nor animal nor human habitation to give them hope of aid or suste nance. The first emotions of Benignus, after struggling through the waves, are admiring gratitude to God for giving him his life, and a cheerful confidence that he who had aided him thus far, would not then leave him to perish. The first emotions of Contumax are murmuring regret that he has lost his voyage and lost his money, and is thrown upon a desolate coast with no immediate prospect of getting away. He wonders why such illluck should always happen to him; he is indignant that he was ever such a fool as to trust himself to the sea; he wonders he could not have had sense enough to remain at home. Presently Benignus discovers in the rock, far above the reach of the waves, a spacious cavern, the entrance to which is protected by an artificial wall, and its sides pierced, evidently by a human hand, for the admission of light and air. Benignus is delighted; he immediately concludes that some benevolent individuals, or some paternal government, had provided this shelter on purpose for unfortunate mariners who might be shipwrecked on this inhospitable shore. Contumax scorns any such inference; WE ask not that a man should come to an investigation of the evidences of the Christian revelation with a pre-judgment in its favour; we ask only that there be no prejudice in the soul against it. It is only when a man looks through a glass which is perfectly clear and pure, that he sees things as they are; if the glass be in the least degree distorted or discoloured, every object seen through it will necessarily partake of the distortion and discolouration. So our Saviour teaches us, Matt. v. 22, 23. This is said expressly in regard to the blinding power of avarice in perverting the religious judg- he cannot see why benevolent people ments, (compare verses 19, 20 ;) and the should wish to drive poor shipwrecked same is true of every other forbidden wretches into such a dismal hole in the state of mind and affection. When there rock, instead of providing them with a is no mental or moral pre-occupation comfortable and pleasant home. Benignus averse to the Christian system, the sur- reminds him that a house with windows prising adaptations of this system to meet and doors could not endure the storms of and relieve the wants and sorrows of man, such a coast: and as no one would live constitute a species of evidence which is there to take care of it, it would be conreal and most convincing; some traits, tinually out of repair, and far less comwhich on a superficial view seemed un-fortable than the cavern; and therefore favourable, on closer scrutiny are found to be among the strongest links in the chain of demonstration. Again, the mind may be in such a state that the clearest evidence of this kind will produce upon it no effect whatever. There is a voluntary and perfect unsusceptibility to any impression from it. the very nature of the shelter provided should be regarded as a striking proof not only of the benevolence, but also of the wisdom of the provider. But Contumax is thinking of a handsome house on a green lawn, bordered with the shrubbery of a fine climate, and cannot see a particle of either wisdom or benevolence |