fully by him, while he looked down upon drous gravity. her with won "Do you know who that person is ?" he asked the child, seriously. "Yes, sir," said she. "Do you know that you were taking a very great liberty with one who is much older and wiser than you are?" he asked again. The child looked up into his face wistfully, and tears sprang to her eyes. 66 "Bless your dear heart, sir!" exclaimed Richard Rands; no liberty at all. Don't think Mr. Gresham means it, Polly darling: it is only his fun.” "But indeed I do mean it," said Mr. Gresham, as seriously as ever. And then he turned once more to the half-alarmed child with "How could you dare, my dear child, to take such a great liberty? What could possess you to put your arm round that person's neck, and your lips so near her cheek?" "Please don't frighten poor Mary," pleaded Mrs. Rands. "I do not wish to frighten the child; but I wish to— there, it does not signify saying what I wish: but I ask her again to tell me; tell me, little Polly, how it was you could be so bold, so very bold?” 2 There was something in Mr. Gresham's tone and manner, and in a gentle, kindly pressure of his hand, which reassured the child, and she positively laughed in her questioner's face. 66 Why, sir," said she, opening her eyes very wide indeed, "that's my mother, sir: don't you know ?" "Your mother? nonsense!" "But it isn't nonsense, sir," responded little Polly, earnestly "she is my mother. You know that, don't you, sir? Only you are making game of me for nothing." "No, I am not making game of you for nothing. And how am I to know that that person is your mother, my dear child? Indeed, and in truth, I do not know that she is." "But I do, sir," said Polly, gaining confidence, and rather entering into the spirit of Mr. Gresham's "fun," as she afterwards called it. "Do you? Well, little wiseacre, and how do you know it ?" "Why, sir, didn't she nurse me when I was a wee-wee baby?". "Perhaps she did, and perhaps not; but I'll be bound to say that you know nothing about it, whether she did or not. Come now, little Polly, do you remember (honour, you know) your mother (if she is your mother) nursing you when you were a wee-wee baby?" "Silly!" said the child, who was more than ever sure that her clerical friend was only "funning," silly little baby could remember anything!" 66 as if a "Just what I say, Polly. How can a silly little baby remember anything? And so, the truth must be that you really don't know whose child you are ?". "Yes, but I do, sir. I tell you I do." "Well, but I ask you again, how do you know it ?". "Why, sir, does not my mother love me, like-like a mother?" said the child, striving to get away from her big playmate's friendly grasp: but he held her firmly. "She whom you call your mother may tell you so, perhaps but suppose she only deceives you, what then?" demanded the visitor. 66 My mother never deceives anybody," said Polly, almost fiercely: "does she, father?" "No, no; she never does: that's quite right, Polly," said the father, who sat listening to the turn the strange dialogue was taking. But "Ah, you may say so, my child: but you do not know everything; you are but a child, you know, and have much to learn yet before you come to be a woman. suppose your mother, as you call her, does show some love to you, I should like to ask you again, how do you know that you are her child ?" It was almost unbearable. Whether he were in fun or in earnest, little Mary could stand this questioning no longer, as it seemed; for, breaking away from the hold of her friendly tormentor, she ran across the space which separated her from her parent, and threw both arms round her mother's neck: "I love you, I love you; mother, I love you!" she cried. For a minute or two not one of the little party spoke, and Mr. Gresham rose from his chair and looked out at the window. When he returned to his seat, he beckoned little Polly to him, and took her on his knee. "You must forgive me," said he, "for playing with you. I can quite believe now that you are your mother's own dear little girl; and, indeed, I never doubted it. But now, I wish to ask you one more question, and then I will leave off plaguing you. You would not like to be separated from your mother, I suppose. I mean, you would not like it if she were to send you away from home, never to see her again?" "Oh, sir; mother will never do that: I am not a bit afraid of that," said the child. 66 She Happy child!" exclaimed Mr. Gresham, as he kissed little Polly, and released her. "You see," continued he, addressing the parents, "your daughter does not torment herself with curious questions about her relationship. knows who loves her and whom she loves; and she can enter into the spirit of the lines of a hymn which I, at any rate, admire : 'Lord, when I quit this earthly stage, I cannot live contented here, And if no evening visit's paid How dull the night! how sad the shade! My God, and can a humble child, Be ever from thy face exiled, Without the pity of thine eye? Impossible! for thine own hands And in thy book the promise stands, That where thou art, thy friends must be.' And now, good friends," added the visitor, "I must go. I will call again another day, and go on, if you please, with our former conversation." Saying this, Mr. Gresham departed. He did call again another day; and was met at the door of the shoemaker's house by Richard Rands, with a radiant countenance. 66 "God bless you, sir: God bless you!" said Richard, fervently. My wife's another woman now, sir, from what she was. You drove the nail home when you was here last that's what you did, sir—right home." WHOM SHALL WE MEET IN HEAVEN? "IF ever," said the excellent John Newton, "through God's infinite mercy I should arrive in heaven, I shall find three wonders. The first wonder will be, that I shall miss a great many people whom I expected to find there; the second wonder will be, that I shall meet a great many whom I did not expect to meet; and the last and the greatest wonder of all will be, to find myself there." No doubt the good old man cherished the most exalted ideas of the beauty and glory of the heavenly world; but it is quite plain that his thoughts dwelt much more on the society with which he expected to meet, and that he anticipated with especial pleasure reunion with beloved earthly friends. So, too, the more we read of the aspirations of devout men of every age, the more do we find that though expecting in heaven all that is glorious and sublime, they have always thought with peculiar delight of the blessed associations in which they hoped to spend eternity. How natural this is! If we were going to a distant country, where we expected to spend the rest of our days, whilst very anxious to know what kind of place it was, we should be far more wishful to know what kind of people we should meet there. We should prefer a country with many disadvantages-cold as Russia, flat as Holland, rainy as Terra del Fuego, hot as the tropics-provided we were sure of meeting in it with pleasant friends, to the most beautiful country in the world, if all its people were perverse and unfriendly. In like manner, then, it concerns us far more to know respecting the future life, with whom we shall spend it than where; for though, as a place, heaven combined all the attractions of the loveliest country on earth enhanced a thousand fold, we should be desolate and wretched still if the society were uncongenial. Whom then shall we meet in heaven? There is one Being who stands most prominent in all the descriptions which are given us of heaven; and first and most of all we must think of Him. "If any man serve me," said the Lord Jesus Christ, "let him follow me; and where I am there shall also my servant be."* To comfort his disciples in the immediate prospect of his departure, he said, "I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you unto myself, that where I am there ye may be also."† No thought so endeared the hope of heaven to the apostle Paul, as that there he should be with Jesus. "We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body and present with the Lord." "Having a desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better." The great multitude which no man could number," are represented as "clothed in white robes, and with palms in their hands," standing "before the throne and before the Lamb;" and it is said, "For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters;" whilst, again, the joys of heaven are described as "the marriage supper of the Lamb.”¶ What may be the full import of those two expressive words "with Christ," we cannot tell; but of this we may be sure, that there will be in heaven brighter manifestations of his excellence than any which could possibly be made to us on earth, richer tokens of his favour, the highest honour, the most intimate fellowship, and, as the result of all, an unspeakable bliss: "My knowledge of that life is small, But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, We shall meet in heaven with holy angels. They are described by our Lord as "the angels in heaven." "In heaven their angels," said he, speaking of his "little ones,' "do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven."** The apostle John "beheld, and heard the voice of many angels round about the throne and the living creatures and the elders; and the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands." All our thoughts of heaven are inseparably asso *John xii. 26. John xiv. 2, 3. 2 Cor. v. 8. ¶ Rev. xix. 9. **Matt. xviii. 10. tt Rev. v. 11.; |