And Death stretched out his long hand towards the fine little flower, but she held her hands fast round his, so tight, and yet afraid that she should touch one of the leaves. Then Death blew on her hands, and she felt that it was colder than the wind, and her hands fell down powerless.

"Thou canst not do anything against me!" said Death. "But that Our Lord can!" said she.

"I only do His bidding!" said Death. "I am His gardener, I take all His flowers and trees, and plant them out in the great garden of Paradise, in the unknown land; but how they grow there, and how it is there, I dare not tell thee."

"Give me back my child!' said the mother, and she wept and prayed. At once she seized hold of two beautiful flowers close by, with each hand, and cried out to Death, "I will tear all thy flowers off, for I am in despair."

"Touch them not!" said Death. "Thou say'st that thou art so unhappy, and now thou wilt make another mother equally unhappy."

"Another mother!" said the poor woman, and directly let go her hold of both the flowers.

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There, thou hast thine eyes," said Death; "I fished them up from the lake, they shone so bright; I knew not they were thine. Take them again, they are now brighter than before; now look down into the deep well close by, I shall tell thee the names of the two flowers thou would'st have torn up, and thou wilt see their whole future life-their whole human existence; see what thou wast about to disturb and destroy."

And she looked down into the well; and it was a happiness to see how the one became a blessing to the world, to see how much happiness and joy were felt everywhere. And she saw the other's life, and it was sorrow and distress, horror and wretchedness.

"Both of them are God's will!" said Death.

"Which of them is Misfortune's flower? and which is that of Happiness?" asked she.

"That I will not tell thee," said Death; "but this thou shalt know from me, that the one flower was thy own child! it was thy child's fate thou saw'st-thy own child's future life!"

Then the mother screamed with terror "Which of them was my child? Tell it me! save the innocent! save my child from all that misery! rather take it away! take it into God's kingdom! Forget my tears, forget my prayers, and all that I have done!"

"I do not understand thee!" said Death. "Wilt thou have thy child again, or shall I go with it there, where thou dost not know?"

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Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to our Lord: Oh, hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is the best! hear me not! hear me not! And she bowed her head down in her lap, and Death took her child and went with it into the unknown land.

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

THE BLANK BIBLE.

I thought I was at home, and that, on taking up my Bible one morning, I found, to my surprise, what seemed to be the old familiar book was a total blank: not a character was inscribed in it or upon it. On going into the street, I found every one complaining in similar perplexity of the same loss; and before night it became evident that a great and wonderful miracle had been wrought in the world: the hand which had written its awful menace on the walls of Belshazzar's palace had reversed the miracle, and expunged from our Bibles every syllable they contained: thus reclaiming the most

precious gift that Heaven had bestowed, and ungrateful man had abused.

I was curious to watch the effects of this calamity on the varied characters of mankind. There was, however, universally, an interest in the Bible, now it was lost, such as had never attached to it while it was possessed. Some, to whom the Sacred Book had been a blank for twenty years, and who never would have known of their loss but for the lamentations of their neighbours, were not the least vehement in their expressions of sorrow. The calamity not only stirred the feelings of men, but it immediately stimulated their ingenuity to repair the loss. It was very early suggested that the whole Bible had again and again been quoted piecemeal in one book or other; that it had impressed its image on human literature, and had been reflected on its surface, as the stars on a stream. But, alas! on inspection, it was found that every text, every phrase which had been quoted, whether in books of theology, poetry, or fiction, had been remorselessly obliterated.

It was with trembling hand that some made the attempt to transcribe the erased texts from memory. They feared that the writing would surely fade away; but to their unspeakable joy, they found the impression durable; and people at length came to the conclusion, that God left them at liberty, if they could, to reconstruct the Bible for themselves out of their collective remembrances of its contents. Some obscure individuals who had studied nothing else but the Bible, but who had well studied that, came to be objects of reverence among Christians and booksellers; and he who could fill up a chasm by the restoration of words which were only partially remembered, was regarded as a public benefactor.

At length, a great movement was projected amongst the divines of all denominations, to collate the results of these partial recoveries of the Sacred Text. But here it was curious to see the variety of different readings of the same

passages insisted on by conflicting theologians. No doubt the worthy men were generally unconscious of the influence of prejudice; yet somehow the memory was seldom so clear in relation to texts which told against, as in relation to those which told for, their several theories.

It was curious, too, to see by what odd associations, sometimes of contrast, sometimes of resemblance, obscure texts were recovered. A miser contributed a maxim of prudence, which he recollected principally from having systematically abused. All the ethical maxims were soon collected; for though, as usual, no one recollected his own peculiar duties or infirmities, every one kindly remembered those of his neighbours. As for Solomon's "times for every thing," few could recal the whole, but everybody remembered some. Undertakers said there was "a time to mourn;" and comedians said there was "a time to laugh;" young ladies innumerable remembered there was a time to love;" and people of all kinds, that there was a time to hate;" everybody knew there was a time to Quaker added, that there was also "

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speak;" and a worthy a time to keep silence."

But the most amusing thing of all was, to see the variety of speculations which were entertained respecting the object and design of this strange event. Many gravely questioned whether it could be right to attempt the reconstruction of a Book of which God himself had so manifestly deprived the world; and some, who were secretly glad to be relieved of so troublesome a monitor, were particularly pious on this head, and exclaimed bitterly against this rash attempt to counteract the decrees of Heaven. Some even maintained that the visitation was not in judgment but in mercy; that God, in compassion, and not in indignation, had taken away a Book which men had regarded with an extravagant admiration and idolatry; and that, if a rebuke at all was intended, it was a rebuke to a rampant Bibliolatry. This last reason, which

assigned, as the cause of God's resumption of his own gift, an extravagant admiration and reverence of it on the part of mankind-it being so notorious that even the best of those who professed belief in its Divine origin and authority had so grievously neglected it-struck me as so exquisitely ludicrous, that I broke into a fit of laughter, which awoke

me.

The morning sun was streaming in at the window, and shining upon the open Bible which lay on the table; and it was with joy that my eyes rested on those words, which I read through grateful tears,-"The gifts of God are without repentance."

SAMUEL ROGERS.

HUMAN SYMPATHY TAUGHT BY CHRIST.

The years behind us are dead and gone. The past can never be recalled. But through the silence, and through the death, we listen to the voice of experience saying that all has not been in vain.

There must be something intensely, radically wrong in the man whose heart does not expand beneath the cheering rays of human sympathy, whose being does not feel ennobled, refreshed, and enraptured when in the companionship of a true friend.

We hear the constant cry-" Live to Christ; do not attach yourself, or your affections to anything visible or tangible— if you do, you are certainly not a religious man."

Surely this is a grand mistake. I cannot for a moment think that "living to Christ" can mean the cutting away of all that makes this present life true and beautiful. I feel assured that the blessed Saviour never would have commanded us to live apart from our fellow-man, nor, if cast in the midst of our kind, to remain uninfluenced by love, pity,