somewhat akin were passing also. What was he, to be favonred above so many? Glad in the possession of worldly comforts, and exceeding glad in the knowledge of a Saviour who loved him, died for him, lived to intercede for him.

But not long that night did husband and wife find time for musing. The keeping-room in which they stood was full of guests. The Laird of Dunmore had been summoned to attend to the king for some weeks, and during his absence Lady Louise and her two little boys, along with Master Davie, had come to visit Maude at Miretown. They were a happy party; and many an evening (though still in partial secrecy) the old Wycliffe copy of the Scriptures was produced, and its sacred truths read and meditated on. There was no priest or chaplain kept in that house. William Miretown acted, as Abraham of old, as priest to his own household.

Davie Dunmore's health was still delicate. All hopes of becoming a soldier were now almost dying away, even from the mind of his father; but he took much to books, and had resided in St. Andrews during the winter months for the last three years, in order to study at the university, and also to enjoy the society of his much-loved friend and physician, Doctor Crawer, who was silently going on in his daily labour of love, ministering to the bodies and souls of his suffering fellow immortals. Dying eyes not a few were raised in loving gratitude to his as he whispered of Him who hath taken the sting from death and the victory from the grave; and dying lips uttered the name of Jesus, of whose love they knew net till on a bed of sickness the medical missionary had told them the "old, old"-yet ever new-"story of redeeming love."

'Davie, brother Davie, a story, a story," said little chubby-cheeked Eugene, as he stopped his play and ran to his favourite "big man brother," as he called him. "Well, what shall it be about this time, mon frère?" said Davie, lifting the boy on his knee and stroking the dark, glossy curls, so like those of the little sister who had now been nearly four years with Jesus in glory.

“Tell me about the King James," said the child. "You always say, when you were little you liked to hear about him, his crimson cloak and plumed hat and sword; and oh, tell how he learned to shoot with the bow and arrow when he was in England; and the queen, Davie, is she as pretty as sister Maude?" And the boy pointed to his sister.

His words were overheard, and a hearty burst of laughter followed. Just then a noise was heard in the courtyard, and a horseman rode in.

"Ha! a guest!" said the laird. "We must haste to bid him welcome; but who is he? Methinks it is the Flemish merchant, Van Weld. What brings him, I wonder? 'Tis rarely he favours us."

Ere he reached the door the merchant entered. He greeted the ladies hastily, then turned to the laird. His face was sadly troubled as he spoke.

"I bring evil tidings, Miretown. Dr. Crawer was arrested this morning at the bidding of the bishop, and is imprisoned in the Castle on the charge of heresy and want of respect to the Mother Church."

In an instant Davie Dunmore was on his feet.

"Is it possible?" he said; "the noblest and best of men! Can nothing be done to rescue him from the hands of "

A hard, unchristian word was rising to the young man's lips; but he forced it back, and substituted "cruel bishop."

"Let us go," he said, with his old impetuosity. "Why waste time here talking?"

But the merchant laid his hand on the excited youth's arm, saying, "Something must be done, and at once; but let us bring sober reason to bear on the subject."

"I'll see the bishop at once,” said Davie, “and reason with him. My father knows him well, and in his absence he may listen to me."

The merchant smiled. "When 'tis a question of heresy, young master, 'tis little Henry Wardlaw will heed even his dearest friend."

For a few minutes William Miretown had stood paralysed with dismay at the tidings; but he soon regained his composure, and came forward, saying, "The only thing I can think of, is an immediate application to King James. If the bishop will be moved by any one, 'twill be the king; and if your father will make the application to him, good may come of it. But there is no time to be lost, Maude: my brave Maude-I must leave you this very hour, and set off for Stirling without delay, and Davie will stay to comfort and cheer you in my absence."

"Nay, William," said the young master; "this very night I return with Van Weld to St. Andrews, and shall contrive by some means to gain admittance to Doctor Crawer. Don't gainsay me. I must go. Sir Thomas Godwin is to return to-night, and will take charge of the ladies during our absence."

All saw that any attempt to turn Davie from his purpose would be useless, and so, ere a couple of hours had passed, the happy family party was broken up, and the Laird of Miretown and the young Master of Dunmore had each gone on their different embassies to aid, if possible, the loved physician and brother in Christ. Ere they departed, the whole party united in reading the account of Peter in prison released in answer to prayer; and bending their knees, besought God of behalf of the prisoner in the Castle dungeon. And so, ere that lovely summer evening had closed, the two brothers-in-law rode off, and the ladies remained behind to do as so often falls to the lot of womensuffer suspense and anxiety in silence, unable to help, save by the all-powerful aid of prayer. Would Paul Crawer be released, and, like Peter of old, come and declare how the Lord had delivered him out of prison?

CHAPTER XVI.

VICTORY.

"The strife is done, the crown is won,
And the martyr rests at last-
Up! up! up!

Far beyond the clear blue sky,
Beyond the stars and beyond the sun,
To his Father's house on high!

It was a bright day in early autumn. Summer beauty still lingered, only the palest tinge of gold and red told that autumn had begun. The sun shone in an unclouded sky; the air was fresh and inspiriting. It was a day when all nature looked very fair, when existence seemed in itself a pleasure. The world seemed flushed with life. One felt sure, if language had been given to trees, and fields, and oceans that day, they would all have joined in a hymn of rejoicing praise. On some such day must the Psalmist have written these words: "Thou crownest the year with thy goodness; and thy paths drop fatness. The little hills rejoice on every side. The pastures are clothed with flocks; the valleys also are covered over with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing."

It was on such a day, so pregnant with life, so full of all that makes life desirable, that Paul Crawer was led forth from the gloomy Castle dungeon to die. All entreaties had proved in vain; and the Bohemian doctor was proved guilty of the heresy of declaring that the cup at the Lord's Supper was free to be partaken of by all believers; of exposing the doctrines of pilgrimages and purgatory; and of saying that the worship of saints and the Virgin was contrary to the law of God, and that Jesus Christ was the only Mediator between God and man likewise it was proved that he had endeavoured to disseminate these heretical opinions amongst the students of the university and many others. Nay, he himself did not deny the fact, and even openly declared he had come from the distant country of Bohemia with the view of so doing. For such a heretic there could be but one doom-to be burned at the stake as a traitor to the Holy Mother Church and a heretic. And the physician heard the sentence unmoved. Boldly he had confessed Christ before men; calmly he listened to the sentence of death: it was no new thought to him. Years before, he had counted the cost of leaving all to follow Christ. Death to him was but the beginning of endless life-but the seeing Him face to face who was the beloved of his soul-the One of whom he could say, as another child of God's in later days, "He knew more intimately than he did any friend on earth." Like Stephen of old he looked up, and by faith saw Jesus standing ready to receive his spirit. By special favour, Davie Dunmore had been allowed an interview with the condemned man, but only on condition that his father was present. No words on religious matters were permitted to be exchanged; but Davie saw all he wished-Christ's power resting on his faithful servant:

There was The Elder

not only peace but joy shone on his face.
One with him whom the world knew not.
Brother, true to his promise, was with him even in the
dark prison. "I will be present at the last," Davie
whispered, as he bade his beloved friend farewell, "and
ere long we will be together in glory." William Mire-
town strove in vain to obtain the same privilege as
Davie, no other was admitted; so in solitude passed the
last days of Paul Crawer. Alone, yet not alone; no
iron bars can shut out the Triune God. As truly as the
Lord of old appeared unto Paul in prison, bidding him
be of good cheer, so, truly, was he revealed to the
medical missionary. Was not his own word given to
him when he said, "Fear none of these things which
thou shalt suffer: thou shalt have tribulation ten days:
be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a
crown of life"? Thoughts of his old home, of his father
and his loving sister Liese, often filled the captive's heart
as he sat in his sea-bound prison; but they were not
all thoughts of sorrow. He knew they would moura
his loss, weep over his cruel sufferings; but he also
knew they would rejoice that one so dear to them had
been counted worthy to die a martyr's death and receive
a crown of glory. And he could look forward by faith
to meeting them once more when their work on earth
was also over-in glory everlasting. Ah! yes,

"They who love the Saviour never
Know a long, a last farewell."

On the bright autumn morning we have written of, Paul Crawer was, as we have said, led forth to die. The earth all around did look very beautiful; but he was going to one far more so. Soon his feet would tread the golden streets within the pearly gates, and he would be with Jesus himself for ever. A vast multitude bad assembled-many out of curiosity; but many also, far more than was suspected, to uphold the beloved physician by their presence. William Miretown and Davie Dunmore, Andrew Kid, and the Flemish merchant, pressed forward close to the stake, eagerly catching every word which fell from the lips of their loved counsellor and friend. Boldly, as he walked along, and even as they fastened him to the stake, he preached Christ, urging all to look away from saints and images to Jesus only. He besought any who knew the truth not to hide it under a bushel, and told of the peace and joy that filled his breast even in the prospect of death by fire. His words were with power. The multitude were strongly moved, when the bishop, getting alarmed, ordered a large brass ball to be forced into his mouth to hinder him from speaking. Ah! he feared too truly the power of the Word of God. Davie Dunmore pretested loudly against the wanton cruelty of gagging the condemned man, but his father told him remonstrance was in vain.

But though the language of the lips was denied him, the whole demeanour and countenance of the physician spoke. Like Stephen of old, all who looked steadfastly

to tend us in our own moments of sorrow or sickness. We feel sure she has learned the lesson

"Wiser, truer than all the rest:
That to help and to heal a sorrow,
Love and silence are always best."

Then came the crowning act; and in the flaming furnace, the soul of the first martyr in St. Andrews passed to glory. The baptism of fire was over, and, "absent from the body, he was present with the Lord." Faithful unto death, his would be the crown of glory.

With sickening hearts many of the crowd turned away. He who had ministered to so many, watched by their sick-beds, and comforted the last hours of many of their loved ones, was no more: no wonder sorrow filled their hearts. As they dispersed a stir was heard, "Make way! make way! give him air!" and on boking round, some recognized the apparently lifeless form of Davie Dunmore. He had forced himself to keep up as long as his presence could comfort his friend, but the dreadful strain had proved too much for his feeble frame, and Davie Dunmore had fainted. They bore him through the crowd to the house of the Flemish merchant, and it soon became plain it was no ordinary faint. He might rally a few days; but ere long Davie would meet his friend where death cannot enter, and partings are unknown.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE MARTYR'S FRIENDS.
"A heavenly thing for them,

As well as for him they love,
To have one so dear in glory set
At the King's right hand above.

Yet their hearts had wearied sore

To see him face to face!;

It is sometimes hard to rejoice that he
Attained to the holier place."

Two years have passed since the fearful scene we wrote of in the last chapter took place. And, in concluding, we will take a farewell glance at some of the homes of the persons we have written of. Far away, in the beloved land of the medical missionary, in the city of Prague, by the side of the rushing Moldau, walks an old man and a cripple girl. Very gray are the old man's locks, his head is bent and his step feeble; but his eye is full of peace, and he glances upward with the look of one who knows and rejoices in the knowledge that, ere long, he will reach his home above. And the gentle girl at his side bears the same calm, composed look, as of one who, young as she is, has passed through some great sorrow, but come out purified as fine gold. We figure her as she really was, as one who would be as a ministering angel to the poor and suffering-one whom we would like

As the couple pass along, respectful salutations meet them on all sides, and old men uncover their heads as they pass, and pray God to help and comfort the martyr's

native city that Paul Crawer had won the martyr's crown. And Liese, what of her? Did she droop under the fearful blow? No; had she had none to care for she might, for a fearful storm of grief broke over her soul; but she looked at her Father and she lived-took up her cross and bore it faithfully. She was not called to endure the martyr's doom at the stake, but the daily living martyrdom of fighting down a great sorrow and living for others. With great truth has a pleasant poetess said,

"Blessed are those who die for God,

And earn the martyr's crown of light;
Yet he who lives for God may be
A greater conqueror in his sight.

Sorrow did indeed fill the hearts of many when it became known that the medical missionary, sent forth by the band of believers in the city of Prague, had passed through the fiery furnace to his home; yet there was joy also that the seed he had sown was already springing up and bearing fruit.

Our scene changes, and once more we revisit Dunmore Castle. The young laird has reached his Father's house above, and seen him face to face, whom, having not seen, he had learned to love. The Lady Louise is there, bright as ever, but the blitheness is tempered now. Sorrow hath toned down and sanctified, yet not removed, the gay temperament. Davie's Saviour is her Saviour, and, despite an occasional remonstrance from the laird, she is trying to teach her little ones the truths contained in the Evangel. And Sir Thomas Godwin is there also he says little on religious subjects; but since the hour he witnessed the martyr's death, it has been observed that no crucifix stands in the chaplain's room. And the last words that Davie Dunmore heard were these precious ones,-"I am the resurrection and the life he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live,” whispered to him by his kind preceptor. One other peep at Miretown Castle. In the keepingroom sits Mistress Maude, fair as ever little Marie is playing at her feet, and a baby boy, her little Davie, in her arms. Her husband is there also, strong, manly, and decided as of yore. And seated, work in hand, is a young girl who looks admiringly at Maude. She is Lysken Van Weld, who is paying them a visit at Miretown Castle. Peace and contentment reign in that household, for the love of Jesus fills each heart.

Just as we glance in, William Miretown has lifted the precious manuscript volume, and in the quaint English of those days is reading aloud the words: "Then

he called his twelve disciples together, and gave them authority over all devils, and to cure diseases. And he sent them to preach the kingdom of God, and to heal the sick." Here he paused, then spoke of him whom they had all loved so much, who had so faithfully followed his Master's bidding in joining the healing of the body with the preaching of the gospel, and who had been faithful unto death.

And now, dear readers, farewell. This is no wholly imaginary tale. Paul Crawer really lived and suffered as we have written of, and was the first medical missionary in Scotland, and the first of St. Andrew's noble list of martyrs. How far the seed he sowed spread we

know not, but we do know God's own words never return to him void. And many more than we know of may have received good from the words of faith and love whispered in their ears on sick-beds by one who, whilst endeavouring to ease the body, never failed to remember and seek the welfare of the never-dying soul. Truly has it been well said, that "medical missions are the most ancient and noblest of all, having for their founder the Lord Jesus himself, and numbering amongst their earliest members no less a person than Luke the evangelist and beloved physician." And should the reading of this tale have the effect of increasing the interest of any, old or young, in medical missions, the design of the writer in choosing the subject will be fulfilled.

M. H.

66

T was at Antioch, the city where the disciples were first called Christians, that a deacon of the Church of Cæsarea was called to endure the most cruel tortures, in order to try his faith, and force him to deny the Lord who bought him with his precious blood. The martyr, amidst his agonies, declared his belief that there is but one God, and one Mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus." His body was almost torn to pieces, the Emperor Galerius himself looking on. At length, weary of answering their taunts that he should acknowledge the many gods of the heathen, he told his tormentors to refer the question to a little child, whose simple understanding could decide whether it were better to worship one God, the Maker of heaven and earth, and one Saviour who was able to bring us to God, or to worship the gods many or the lords many whom the Romans served.

Now it was so that a Roman mother had come to the scene of the martyr's sufferings, holding by the hand a little boy of nine years old.

The question was asked the child, and, to the surprise of those who heard it, he replied, "God is one, and Jesus Christ is one with the Father."

The prosecutor heard, but far from being softened or convinced, was filled with fresh rage.

"It is a snare," he cried. "O base and wicked Christian thou hast instructed that child to answer thus." Then turning to the boy he said, more mildly, "Tell me, child, who taught you thus to speak?"

The boy looked lovingly in his mother's face and replied, "It was God's grace that taught it to my dear mother; and she taught me that Jesus Christ loved little children, and I learned to love him for his love to us." "Let us see now what the love of Christ can do for you," cried the cruel judge; and, at a sign from him, the lictors or officers, who stood ready with their rods,

after the fashion of the Romans, instantly seized the boy.

"What can the love of Christ do for him now!” asked the judge as the blood streamed from the tender flesh of the boy.

"It enables him to endure what his Master endurel for him, and for us all," was the reply.

And again they smote the child to torture the mother. "What can the love of Christ do for him now?" they asked again. And tears fell even from heathen eyes as that Roman mother answered, “It teaches him to fergive his persecutors."

The boy watched his mother's eye, and he thought of the sufferings of his Lord and Saviour; and when his tormentors inquired whether he would not now acknowledge the gods they served, and deny Christ, he still answered, "No! there is no other God but one. Christ is the Redeemer of the world. He loved me, and I love him for his love."

Jesus

The poor child now fainted between the repeated strokes, and they cast the mangled body into the mother's arms, crying, "See what the love of your Christ can do for him now."

As the mother pressed him gently to her own crushe I heart, she answered, "That love will take him from the wrath of man to the peace of heaven."

"Mother," cried the dying boy, "give me a drop of water from our cool well upon my tongue."

The little martyr was silent, and then the mother said, "Already hast thou tasted of the well that springeth up to everlasting life; arise now, for thy Saviour caileth for thee. Young happy martyr! for his sake, may fe grant thy mother grace to follow thy bright path.”

The boy faintly raised his eyes, looked to where the elder martyr was, and said again, "There is but one God, and Jesus Christ whom he has sent ;" and so saying, he died.