the strangers. The apostles are dragged into the forum, and accused before the magistrates as the propagators of a faith not recognized by Roman law.

To give force to their charge, the accusers are careful to intimate that the prisoners are Jews. Already the Jews had, in a violent tumult, been expelled from Rome, and the colony will imitate the metropolis. Both the populace and the magistrates will readily receive an accusation against men of that hated and persecuted nation. Stirred up by this great outcry, and thinking they might safely perpetrate any outrage upon Jews, who were beyond the pale of the law, the magistrates-two men who exercised authority over the colony-stripped the accused, and commanded the lictors to beat them with rods. Many stripes were inflicted before the cruel appetite of the mob was satiated. It is difficult for us to estimate the severity of this punishment. The victim was beaten on the naked flesh with thick rods by trained professional executioners. The insignia of a Roman ruler consisted of a bunch of rods tied together like a sheaf, and an axe protruding from the end of the bundle. The rods symbolized secondary, and the axe capital, punishment.

After the scourging the missionaries were cast into

On another occasion, when he was himself in chains, Paul exulted in the remembrance that the word of God was not bound (2 Tim. ii. 9). He meant that God's word to men might have free course through the Roman world although one of its preachers was silenced. There is another sense in which word may go free although the speaker's body is bound in chains. Not only the word that comes from God, but also the word that goes to God, is free though the speaker be in fetters. Christ is the way, and that way lies open up to the Father's presence when the prison doors have shut upon a suppliant. The word which an afflicted child pours into the Father's ear was not bound that night in the prison of Philippi. The stocks had no power to grasp prayer, and hinder it from ascending heavenward. Blessed be God, nothing can block the way of prayer. It is long since the record was written, "Out of the depths have I cried unto thee:" and I suppose, when the books are opened, it will be found that most of the cries that have really reached the throne were cries that ascended from the deep. It is when you look from the bottom of a well that you descry the stars in daylight; on the surface, with the glare all round, although they are there, you cannot discern them. It is thus that faith's eye cannot

ment in detail, but they gave a general charge that these men should be kept with special security, and left the jailer to adopt his own methods. That officer, with an eye to his own safety, shut them in an interior cell of exceptional strength, and fixed their feet in the stocks besides.

prosperity as from the low, low place of some great

sorrow.

We may leave Paul and Silas in the dungeon for the night. The Lord that bought them will so reveal himself to his witnesses, that the darkness shall be light about them.

CHAPTER V.

THE MERCHANT'S CHILD.

"They who know the Saviour's name
Are for all events prepared;
What can changes do to them

Who have such a guide and guard?
Should they traverse earth around,
To the ladder still they come :

Every spot is holy ground;

God is there and he's their home."

HE moon was up when Paul Crawer left his lodging, and took his way to the house of the Flemish merchant, which was situated near the bay, not far from the castle, where dwelt the bishop, Henry Wardlaw. The moonbeams were playing softly on the waters of the bay, and silvering the walls and arched gateway of the castle.

The doctor's eye took in at a glance the beauty of the scene, as he paused for a moment ere entering the house whither he was bound. Strange stories were told even then of that "castle by the sea," answering as it did the threefold purposes of an episcopal palace, a state prison, and a fortress. Tales not a few were current of a strange, mysterious dungeon at the north-west of the quadrangle, having in its centre a dark, dismal chasm, nearly twenty-seven feet deep, into which prisoners were cast: no sound from the outer world could reach them there,

"But only the stormy wave,

As it beat against the rock,
Was heard within that gloomy cave
With a faint and distant shock."

But the physician turned his thoughts to other things, and entered the house. The merchant greeted him

kindly, and led him at once into the chamber where lay the only child and darling of his home, little Lysken. She was about nine years of age: a lovely little creature she looked as she lay, her fair flaxen curls falling around her flushed face. She was tossing uneasily about, and talking in the delirium of fever. She was a motherless child; and the lady who sat beside her was her father's sister, Vrow Van Weld. The case was one, the doctor saw, of fever. Care and watching would be needed, but there seemed no cause to apprehend danger. He sat down a few minutes to watch the child, and leave the necessary orders.

The merchant was unknown to him: indeed, he, with his child and sister, had only shortly before come to St. Andrews, intending to reside there for some time; Van Weld himself being one of many merchants who had come to Scotland in hopes of seeing the king, and getting him to enter into some commercial treaty with their nation. Everything in the house betokened the inhabitants as being people of wealth. The fact that though of different nations, yet that both were foreigners in that strange land, seemed at once to form a bond of union between the Bohemian doctor and the Flemish merchant. They entered into conversation, speaking low in case of disturbing the child. Their conversation related chiefly to the anticipated visit of King James to the castle, it having been agreed that the merchant was to form one of a deputation of Flemings which were to wait on him concerning the treaty. The child's voice interrupted them; she was speaking excitedly.

"No, Ursula," she said; "go away-I must not do it. Father says we are not to pray to the Virgin nor the saints. I want to pray to Jesus; he said, 'Suffer the little children—””

The rest of her speech was in the Flemish language. The father moved quickly forward. His sister bent over the child, glancing uneasily at the physician.

"She raves," she said.

Paul Crawer looked up, a gleam of joy lighting up his fine countenance.

"Would that in this dark land many more raved as she does! Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings the Lord perfects praise."

"Ha!" exclaimed the merchant; "you know the Evangel, then? From the land of Huss and the city of Jerome I might have expected so."

"Even so," said the doctor. "The bright light kindled by these fires has broken up the darkness of my beloved country, and in many parts the light of the glorious gospel of Christ Jesus hath shined. To his name be all the praise that it hath shone on my heart.” "And your errand hither?" asked the merchant. "Whilst tending the body, to tell when possible the story of redeeming love to the sick and dying." "Have you counted the cost?"

"I have."

Knowing the truth, can you doubt it?"

The merchant's eye sank under that look. "I do know the truth," he said. "But the flesh is weak; it may be the faith is small!"

Slowly the physician took his precious volume, and read aloud the words, with emphasis:

"When they deliver you up, take no thought how or what ye shall speak, for it shall be given you in that hour what ye shall speak. For it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which speaketh in you.' And again-'Whosoever shall confess me before men, him shall the Son of man also confess before the angels of God. But he that denieth me before men shall be denied before the angels of God.' And again-Whosoever shall be ashamed of me in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him shall the Son of man be ashamed when he cometh in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.'

The merchant and his sister listened eagerly. They were very imperfectly acquainted with the Scriptures, and the words were strange to them; might they hear them again? they asked.

The physician assented gladly, only asking ere he commenced how the truth had reached them, and if it were well-known in their country.

"Alas! no," replied the merchant; "only here and there a glimmer of light shines. The little I myself know, and which I have tried to impart to little Lysken, I learned from my old grandfather; and he had first heard the truth in his youth from some preachers called the 'poor men of Lyons.'

His sister here interrupted them, saying she thought the little Lysken had more of the truth in her heart than either of them; adding, she often feared she might bring them into trouble by her determination not to pray to the Virgin, or bend her knee before a crucifix: dear little Lysken, she was sure, child though she was, would not be ashamed to confess the Lord Jesus.

Then the physician read some more words of counsel from the Holy Book, and, ere parting, they all bent the knee and prayed in the name of Jesus to Him who seeth in secret. Then they said good-night, the physician promising to call the next day; and telling the merchant of the Scripture-readings he held from time to time with some of the students, he invited him to join them when possible,—an invitation which was joyfully accepted, as in his heart the rich man was longing to know more of the Scriptures. For some time this desire had been increasing; but little did he think that it would be fulfilled in that city, where the false religion seemed to reign with such sovereign power.

From that night Paul Crawer dated a friendship which | increased daily, and helped to lighten some of the weary bours of his exile. Little Lysken soon recovered, and became devoted with all the strength of her ardent nature to the foreign doctor, enlivening many of his spare hours by her artless talk, and brightening his spirit when oppressed by the sad scenes around him with her simple child faith, which seemed to grow daily. Many a story of Liese and of his distant home did Paul Crawer relate to Lysken, as he sat on the winter evenings round the fire in the merchant's house. Outside, the wind | moaned and the waves dashed noisily on the rocks below, sometimes even dashing up the streets near the bay; but all within the merchant's house spoke of peace and comfort: for the light had arisen, and love to the risen Saviour had banished the fear of man, which bringeth a snare; and throughout life, ay, and eternity as well, all the members of that household had reason to bless the night that the Bohemian doctor first entered their house, and, through little Lysken's words, discovered that, though in much weakness and doubt, they knew the truth which maketh wise unto salvation. And Paul Crawer also never ceased to give thanks unto God for having raised up for him in the foreign land friends so kind and true, who proved faithful unto death.

86

"

CHAPTER VI.

THE KING'S VISIT.

All hail the power of Jesus' name!
Let angels prostrate fall:

Bring forth the royal diadem,

And crown him Lord of all.

Sinners! whose love can ne'er forget
The wormwood and the gall,

Go, spread your trophies at his feet,
And crown him Lord of all!

"LOUISE," said the Laird of Dunmore, entering the
keeping-room where she sat, one morning shortly after
the events we have written of, "the king's visit is
announced. He comes to St. Andrews the day after
to-morrow, to visit the bishop and see how the Uni-
versity prospers.
There will be great rejoicing and
merry-makings; you must make ready, ma petite, and
let me introduce la belle Française to the king."

The lady, as she was ever termed, rose quickly. "Ah, c'est charmant !" she said. "I have so wished to see our king; and now he comes so near! Ah, we must all go to St. Andrews, and Marie aussi ! only-" And then she stopped. "Poor Davie ! mon mari, how he will fret! Oh, I fear to tell him!"

A sad look passed over the father's face. "Poor boy! 'tis hard for him, noble fellow that he is-no lad in all the kingdom so fearless in the saddle, so able in the chase, fitted as few are for a soldier's life, and devoted to his king and country. And now, forced to lie like an imprisoned lion, vainly dashing itself against the iron bars that confine it! Poor boy!" And the laird strode up and down the room, as if by action to quiet his troubled

spirit. "Ah, here comes the Bohemian doctor! Davie seems to have taken a wonderful fancy for him. We'll ask him to prepare the boy for his disappointment."

“And, mon mari,” said the lady, "should Davie fret, I must, I believe, stay with him and amuse him; who knows but some other time I shall see the king!"

The laird threw his arm round the bright, little, girlish-looking creature, saying, "Nay, my Louise, we must not take advantage of your unselfishness; Davie must learn the lesson of submission, hard though it be. And my little wife has nursed him too closely as it is. We must have Maude home soon to aid you; meanwhile, we must pay our devoirs to the king ensemble."

Just then the doctor entered. He undertook to tell the young master of the king's visit; though, knowing the boy's impetuous, unrestrained temper, he feared the outbreak of passion he would witness. But his news was anticipated; as the laird and he entered the boy's sickroom, they heard him speaking loudly.

"Sir Thomas," he was saying, "I must go-promise me I shall. I am to serve the king in a few years, and see him I must, and shall! See, I am quite strong now-quite. I shall go out to-morrow, and then the next day I shall go to St. Andrews. Where is my father? Get him quick, Sir Thomas. I know he'll let me go. I must see the king, and ask him to let me serve him as a soldier."

"A soldier!" said a voice with a foreign accent. "Why, my young master, you'll never be that, until you have learned a soldier's first lesson-obedience. What kind of a soldier would you think the man to be, who, when his captain bade him wait in one spot, would insist on rushing into the midst of the battle, where he was not required?"

The boy started when he recognized the foreigner; and his father came forward, saying in a cheerful tone, 66 Come, Davie, you must be still now, and we will find some way of letting our noble king know what a brave soldier he will have in you by-and-by; and, depend on it, he will be glad to hear you are engaged in learning, as the doctor truly says, a soldier's first lesson-obedience."

The boy quieted, but his eyes filled with tears. "But, father," he said, "I wanted so much to see the king! I have dreamed of it for nearly a year, since first we heard he might come. And now-oh, I can't bear it!"

At a sign from the doctor, the laird made no reply, and, accompanied by Sir Thomas, quitted the room. Left alone with the physician, the boy's fresh outburst of passion passed. Something in the compassionate yet grave look of that eye soothed him. He spoke a few words as if to excuse himself. "Tis very hard—such a king too! You can hardly know all he has done for our country. There was nothing but plunder and cruelty in all the land till he came. Oh, we may well love him! And every one will crowd to see him and welcome him; and well they may! But why do you look so sad, doctor?"

"If I look sad," replied the physician, "it is because your words reminded me of a King greater far than your King James, who did far more for the welfare of a rebellious land than any king ever did; who left a land of glory and joy to come to save the inhabitants of that rebellious country from the destruction to which they were hastening. He was their rightful King. He came to his own, and his own received him not. No crowd welcomed him, though some listened gladly to his words and counsel. But these were the few; the rest scoffed and mocked him, and put him to death."

"Killed their King!" said the boy. "How could they? Tell me more."

"Shall I read you about it, young master?" "Yes, do."

And once more the doctor drew his precious volume from his breast, and read the following words: "They took him and stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head.""

"Stop!" said the boy passionately. "Was there no one brave enough to strike to the ground those who thus treated their King? Oh, if I only had been there!"

"Hush!" said the doctor; "hear the end: 'And after they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him. And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull, they gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall: and when he had tasted, he would not drink. And they crucified him.""

"Crucified their King!" broke in the boy afresh. "Why, what had he done? I thought you said he had come to save their country?"

"Yes, Master Davie; he came to do even more than that. He came to save their souls, and ours as well. He was the Lord Jesus."

"Oh!" said the boy, "how stupid I was not to know it was the Virgin's Son you spoke of! Of course he hangs on the crucifix; but I never knew, never thought of him in that way. Was it the same who said the 'Peace, be still!' on the lake, and to Liese also?" "The same."

"But why, if he were the Son of God, as you say, why did he not cause the people who crucified him to be put to death, and set himself free?"

"Ay, why?" said the doctor. "Some of the people who saw him hanging on the cross asked the same question. He could have done so with a word; but if he had done so, no soul would have been saved. He came to die instead of and for all who believe on him and love him. He bore our sins in his own body on the tree, and died praying for his murderers, saying, Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!'"

"Did he?" said the boy. "How noble, how good

he must have been! What a King! How I wish I could serve him!"

"And you can. He is King still, Master Davidrightful King of the world. Will you give him your heart, be his soldier, and fight his battles here? Oh, there are few who love and serve him! Will you try?" "Oh, I do love him!" said the boy eagerly. "Tell me how I can serve him."

"Begin by praying to be made like him. Master, he was meek and gentle in spirit, and he would have all his soldiers like-minded. The angry word, the hasty passion, ask him to control, and he will do it.—I must go now. Don't think I have forgotten my promise to show you little Liese's drawings; but I could not bring them today. I grieve you cannot see your noble king; but, young master, try to think of that other King of whom I have been telling you (and who from his throne in heaven is bending an eye of love on you to-day, and saying, 'Come to me,'' Look to me and be saved"), till you are constrained to love him who has died for you." "But the Virgin, doctor, the saints-is it not to them I must pray?"

A grave look came over the doctor's face at the question. What might not his answer draw on his head if the boy repeated it? He was silent for a moment; then said solemnly: "Jesus said, 'Whatsoever ye ask the Father in my name, I will do it.' Do that, my boy; and fear not, your prayer will be answered."

An hour afterwards the Lady Louise stepped into Davie's room, half fearing to hear himn express his disappointment.

"I am so sorry, so very sorry, about you not being able to see the king, Davie," she said, so tenderly that the boy's eyes filled with tears.

But, to her surprise, no angry words followed. He only drew down the white, gentle hand that she had laid on his forehead, and kissed it.

"Never mind, petite mère;" he said, "you and my father shall tell me all about him. And I do believe my grandmother, too, at Crail, will for once leave her beloved mansion, and set off to St. Andrews to see our king. Ah, people will crowd to see him! Not to mock and buffet and kill him, like that other King," he said, in a dreamy tone, as if his thoughts were far off.

"What other king, Davie?" said his step-mother. "The one, mother, who came to his own, and his own received him not he was so good, so kind, so noble. I am going to try to be his soldier, as well as King James's, and fight his battles, if only I knew how. But then I must first be made like him— meek and gentle. I fear I'm not that, petite mère," he said, with a sad smile. "You are all so good to me; and I- Ah, well, I love you dearly, for all my naughtiness. Mother, do you know how they crucified our King Jesus?" The Lady of Dunmore started.

"King Jesus!" she said. "Was it of him you spoke, Davie? Are you going to turn monk or friar, my boy?"