and then the turning of them up towards heaven. This is what the Psalmist is apparently referring to in his words, "When I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate upon thee in the night-watches." That he uttered many a pillow-prayer is a thousandfold more than probable. "I have remembered thy name, O Lord, in the night." "I prevented the dawning of the morning and cried." Those cries were prayers before the dawn of day. If these prayers of the pillow, however, be begotten only of sheer evening sloth, we may say of them that they are "bastards, and not sons." But if they are the legitimate children of weakness, excessive weariness, sickness, or other similar circumstances, then are they of the true house and lineage of Heaven, coming down in kindredship all the way from Bethel, where the over-jaded Jacob had his angelic vision on his pillow of stones. Many a timid boy at boarding-school, with boisterous room-mates about him, has kept alive his prized communion with his Father on high, and so, perhaps, saved his soul, by means of his silent pillow-prayers. Boys, try them. Girls, don't neglect them. Invalids, with your eyes so often held long waking in the night season, distrust not the pillow-prayers. Hundreds are continually climbing to heaven by them as on a ladder. If you perchance fall asleep in the act, do not fret about it; for what opiate from the shop of the apothecary is so harmless as such an out-breathing of your holiest desires upward? What is sweeter than to lose yourself in such a prayer? for prayer is simply a form of thought toward God, and nothing can be more fitting to the very last moments of daily consciousness than such thoughts. Fellow-sinner, try the pillow-prayer; for prayer is a track which the grace of God is as naturally inclined to follow as electricity in its nature is inclined to follow the wire of the telegraph. And then, oh, the dispatches!—of a value which no cable-wire or other ever carried. Not to be estimated with silver or gold, or a multitude of rubies.-Christian Weekly. The Children's reasury. OLD ELI: A STORY OF ALSATIAN COMMON LIFE. BY THE AUTHOR OF TALES OF ALSACE." CHAPTER I. OLD ELI AND SWISS ANNA. "When I am old and grey-headed, O God, forsake me not."-Ps. lxxi. 18. LIAS KABEL had come to Alsace a young and listen as earnestly as if they were in church, and and vigorous man. Born in Mecklenburg, the town's-people would gather in crowds to hear him. where he was early left an orphan, he had On the death of his master, in whose house he had been brought up in Herrenhut by his god-lived for many years, Eli went to board with Swiss Anna. father, an able carpenter, who taught him his own trade. After his godfather's death he set out on his travels, and at length took service with a worthy carpenter in our town, who soon learned to like and trust the quiet, diligent young man, and in a few years raised him to the position of foreman. Eli's training in Herrenhut had not only made him clever at his trade, but had given to his mind a serious turn; so that he soon became the counsellor of all his fellow-workmen, who regarded him with respect, and listened willingly to his advice. At the roofing of every new house, when the poles decorated with light-coloured ribbons were set up, and a feast was given to the workmen, Eli was the so-called "gable orator;" and his speeches were so pithy and instructive, and the songs he sung in his deep bass voice so beautiful and well chosen, that the wild apprentices would become silent This honest woman was a native of Aargau, and earned her "crust of bread," as she said, by washing, cleaning, and garden work. For the last she was particularly famed; and she much preferred working in the open air to scrubbing floors, or listening all day to the gossip of the women in the public wash-house. Eli and Anna soon became accustomed to one another, although in character they were very different. Eli was gentle, silent, and dreamy, and, except at his trade, in which he had few equals and no superior, the most unpractical being in the world,-careless in his dress, and disorderly in his room. Anna was lively, quick of hand and of tongue, and scrupulously cleanly and orderly. No one could sweep a room so thoroughly, wash clothes so white, or make a garden bed so neat as she. She was never in want of work, and whoever had secured her for one day's work always wished to have her again. Her little room was perfectly clean; the floor strewn with fine Rhine sand; the small panes of the window clear and transparent as plate glass; the large oldfashioned oak table polished till it shone; and the bed with its red-checked curtains looked comfortable and inviting. Anna herself, in spite of her hard work, was always clean and neat; and when she went to church on Sundays in her picturesque Swiss costume, with the full black petticoat, the wide snow-white sleeves, the silver chain on the velvet bodice, the blue and white striped apron, and the black cap with its edging of broad lace, the children of the neighbourhood gathered in groups round her door to see "how Swiss Anna had made herself so fine to-day again.” Anna and Eli lived together on the best of terms, up to this one point of cleanliness and order. Eli, as we have said already, kept his room in terrible confusion: he planed, cut, and hammered there, as in a timberyard; threw down his leather apron and his saw on the freshly-made bed, left his clothes lying about on the chairs and among the tools; smoked his pipe and shook out the ashes among the shavings which usually covered the floor, to the horror of Anna, who declared, and not without reason, that without her to look after him he would have set the house on fire and been burned in it long ago. Eli let her talk till she was tired, listened with a smile, and sang or whistled a favourite air. But whenever she ventured, as she now and then did when he was away at his work, to clean out his room, and "make it decent," as she said, the otherwise gentle man would become really angry, would scold, and threaten to leave her and seek board with some one who would not torment him with everlasting sweeping and cleaning, or meddle with his things, which he liked to have always at hand, but which he declared he never could find after her so-called clearing-up. Once the threats had nearly become earnest, and there was a regular quarrel between them. Eli had nailed up over his bed a little shelf, and on the shelf stood an old pewter can, decorated with faded ribbons and withered flowers, and fastened to the wall by a little iron chain. Eli set a high value on this "can of honour," as he called it; for he had inherited it from his old master, and in former days, when he was still young and strong, the famed and popular "gable orator," the can had been decorated for every roofing ceremony with fresh ribbons and flowers, and filled with good old wine, and he had always held it in his hand while he delivered his oration and repeated the customary blessing on the house: "This house, O Lord, do thou watch o'er; Give food sufficient for each day; And bring us all, as time goes by, But when the business had come into the hands of the young master, and the town became always larger, seded by bottles and glasses; and it seemed to Eli as if he too were set aside with the old can, and was now foreman and gable orator only in name. The young master wanted to imitate in everything the Frenchmen from Paris; and it would soon be necessary for him, in his old age, to take lessons from the young apprentices —mere bunglers at the noble carpenter's trade. "Yes, believe me, Anna," he would say, "that was the golden age for our town, when the can of honour was respected, and when our burghers were still true-hearted, honest Germans. But now, with French talk and French manners, our people are left without honour and without faith. My old godfather in Herrenhut used to impress this precept upon me, 'Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the old man.' But now it is all the other way; the old are pushed into the corner, and the young expect to be honoured, and think that they know and understand everything better than we with our gray hairs." Anna could not make out what Eli meant by all this, --had not she lived so long in Alsace, and nobody spoke French to her; but it was true, and she had always heard it, that when one got old, one was worth nothing. But it was quite right of him to value the old can as a remembrance; only he should not let it be destroyed by rust and dirt. It looked as black and sooty as if it had been hanging for years in the chimney, and she had so often wished to clean it; and then he got angry, as he always did when she tried to help him and keep his things in order. Here Eli began to whistle, and Anna had again preached to deaf ears. But once in the spring, when Eli was to be away for a whole day, Anna insisted on getting into his room, "to clean out the whole winter's dirt." When she had done this to her satisfaction, her eye fell on the poor old rusty can, and she determined to finish her work by cleaning and polishing it; thinking that Eli would surely be pleased, on his return, to see it shining like silver. She climbed on the bed to reach the little shelf, but found that the little chain to which the can was attached, was so firmly nailed to the wall, that all her efforts were insufficient to remove it. Meanwhile Eli had returned unexpectedly; and on seeing Anna on his bed tugging at the chain and trying to pull the large nails out of the wall, he got into a terrible passion, raged at her, and swore with an oath (the first she had heard from his lips) that he would beat black and blue the first impertinent woman who dared to lay a finger on his can! Poor Anna crept trembling down from the bed, fled to her own room, and told the landlady, who came up to see what the noise was about, that she was frightened out of her wits, for Eli was going on more wildly than her departed husband used to do when the wine got to his head-"and he drank very bad wine." Eli was now in earnest about going away, and began to look out for board elsewhere. For several days he more populous, and more French, the can was super-kept his door always locked and the key in his pocket, had to sell, with a heavy heart, a little piece of garden ground which she had bought during her husband's lifetime, and where she cultivated potatoes and vegetables, which had brought her in many a penny. But in the familiar air of her dear Aargau she soon felt well and happy. The healing springs brought something of the old strength back to her enfeebled limbs ; and a visit to her birth-place, a little village near Schinznach, where she was heartily welcomed and hos so that Anna could not even get in to make his bed. "Not that I care," she grumbled; "if he won't have it made, let him lie on it as it is." But by degrees old habit and good nature conquered in the hearts of both; and after Anna had promised never to try to clean the old can again-"she would rather see it rusted and destroyed a hundred times, than see Eli in such a passion again,”—Eli gave in too, and peace was restored. So the two old people ate their crust of bread together for many years, without either of them being able to lay by any-pitably entertained by her cousin Vreneli, her last thing for a rainy day. When they were young there living relative, completed the cure. But after having were no savings-banks; but there was a lottery, and spent about six weeks in Switzerland, she began to feel Anna, who would have liked very much to get rich, put an irresistible longing to return home "to her work, many a hard-earned shilling into it, and sometimes even and to old Eli, who had no one to look after him, and a crown, when she had dreamt of a number, or of the was left lonely and uncomfortable while she was enjoyage of some person, and the washerwomen told her to ing herself." And when her cousin pressed her to reventure on that number and she would be sure to win. main, she answered, "No, no; it's time I was home. But instead of winning anything, she several times got Three nights I have dreamt of fire-God protect us; into debt; and then it was Eli who, out of his week's and Eli is as senseless as a child, with his pipe and his wages, helped her in her need. He had never put any smoking among all the rubbish that filled his room. thing into the lottery, for his godfather in Herrenhut Who knows what may have become of him? I will had taught him that such things were "wiles of the have no peace now till I get back, so you must let devil." But Anna declared "Eli was as careless and me go." disorderly about his money as in everything else, and no one, least of all himself, knew what became of it. Besides his board, his few clothes, and his small supply of tobacco, he spent nothing on himself. He never went to the tavern, never drank or gambled; and yet he always got quit of his money. He would lend to every one that asked, and never remember how much or to whom. She had often borrowed from him, and he never asked whether he would get it back, or when; for he was a kind man, and that was the truth." Meanwhile they had both grown old and feeble. Anna said, "I am of no use now." Eli would get dizzy when he climbed on the scaffolding, the axe trembled in his hand, and he could no longer move the heavy beams. He had now, in reality, only the name of foreman and gable orator, and must resign both offices to a younger, stronger man, whom his master (the young master, who was gray-headed himself now) had appointed to assist him. In short, it had gone with him as with his old can; and that, said Anna, was not because of the French talking, but simply from old age. And one severe winter, when the potato disease had reached its height, and food, house-rent, and everything else was dear, old Anna was laid aside for many weeks by a disease in the joints. Eli did his best to keep her from want,-spent all his earnings and tended her as well as he could. But he could earn very little now, he suffered much from rheumatism himself; and then he was so awkward and disorderly in the house, that poor Anna heaved many a deep sigh, and her patience was sorely tried. And when the summer came, and she got better, her limbs remained so stiff that the doctor advised her to go for a time to a watering-place in her native Aargau. To take her there, and to pay the expenses of her illness and the debts of the winter, Anna Unfortunately, Anna's presentiment had not deceived her; and our old friend had in her absence proved the truth of the proverb, "Misfortunes never come single." A few days after Anna's departure, fire had broken out in the town. Eli, forgetting his age and his weakness, climbed on the roof to help in extinguishing it, became dizzy and fell down on the street, a burning beam falling on the top of him, and crushing his leg. He was carried to the hospital, where the leg was amputated; but before it healed, sores broke out on the other leg, which the doctor feared would never heal. So in the course of a few weeks old Eli had become a helpless cripple. When Anna, on her return, learned from the landlady of his misfortune, she hastened at once to the hospital. She found the old man on his bed of pain, wan and wasted, but with a cheerful face and a beaming eye. He stretched out his hand to her, saying, "Welcome, Anna. I am very glad to see you again, I have been wearying for you so. Since you left, the Lord has taken away one leg from me; but he has given me two wings in exchange. Blessed be his name.' At this speech Anna opened her eyes wide, and thought Eli must be in a fever and wandering. She had expected to find him depressed and discouraged, and had been wondering what she could say to the poor fellow to comfort him. But now he looked so contented, as if good instead of evil had happened to him ; and what in all the world he meant by the wings, she could not understand. "I am so glad that you are here again," repeated Eli, shaking her by the hand. "To-day, or to-morrow, they are going to try to fasten on the wooden leg on the stump there; and when, by God's help, I am able to hobble about on it, I would like to come home to you, to my dear little room. You will take me in, will you not, Anna? although I have become such a helpless | Yes, so we used to sing in Herrenhut. First came, creature that you will have twice as much trouble with me as before. When Eli now raised the bed quilt, and Anna saw the stump of the one leg, and the other wound round with bandages, she could not keep back her tears: she clasped her hands together and exclaimed, "Good God, Eli, what is man!" "A poor, miserable worm, Anna, made of dust and ashes; and yet a highly honoured being, for he is 'the dearly bought property of the Lord Jesus,' as the catechism says which I learned in Herrenhut, and have forgotten so long." "Will the wooden leg hurt you very much, and do you think you will be able to walk with it?" asked Anna after a pause, just to have something to say; for she understood Eli less and less, and wondered at him more and more: she had never heard him talk like that. "Oh, well, I suppose it will hurt, perhaps a great deal at first, and then afterwards not so much; but what does a little pain matter? it will not last long; we don't live for ever. And as to the walking, I am afraid you will have to do that for me-did I not say that I would give you twice the trouble now?" quite unexpectedly, the young master to visit me; and he said, 'Eli, since you have served me, and my father before me, faithfully for so many years, and have now met with this misfortune, I will give you a yearly pension of a hundred and fifty francs,'-yes, Anna, he said 'a hundred and fifty francs,' and paid me the first quarter there and then! And secondly came the other gentleman, he whose manufactory was burned, and said to me, 'Eli, as you have met with this accident in trying to help me, it is only right that I should do something for you ;'—and listen, Anna, he pressed a roll of ten five-franc pieces into my hand! Yes, yes, it is as I tell you, and five times ten is fifty. Thirdly, there came the captain of the firemen, and gave me ten francs; and afterwards one and another, and none with empty hands. And now, look here, Anna,"❞—and he drew out a leather bag from under his pillow—" here is the answer from my Father in heaven, before whom I poured out my heart. He sent the young master, and the captain, and all the rest to me. He has given us this store for the coming winter (there are more than a hundred francs) of his own will, and out of his great mercy and loving-kindness." "Well, well!" said Anna, who still stood with folded "I will do what I can, Eli," answered Anna, still hands, looking now at the bag, now at Eli, "you are more astonished; "but-", "But now that Eli is a poor old cripple, who cannot earn anything, what shall we live on? That is what you are thinking, Anna; is it not?" "It's not for want of will, Eli; if I were as strong as I used to be, I would soon earn enough for us both. But you see I am not of much use now either." "Never mind, Anna. I was anxious and troubled about it too, and had nearly despaired, when a verse of a hymn that I had learned in the Bible-class at Herrenhut came into my mind : 'O my soul, trust thou for ever 'Art thou sick, or sad, or needy? And then I thought to myself, I will take courage, and pour out my heart before Him, and tell him all my troubles;-how we two were both old and feeble, and I talking like a clergyman to-day, where did you learn it all?" "And fourthly," continued Eli, brightening still more, "though my legs are lame, I have still, thank God, the use of my hands, and can work away at home and make wooden spoons, salt-dishes, trays, bird-cages, mouse-traps, and such things, which will bring us in many a penny." "And then your room will be in a worse mess than ever, Eli!" "Never mind, Anna; you can sweep it and clean it to your heart's content every Saturday; I promise you that. Even my can of honour-;" here Eli suddenly stopped, grew red and embarrassed, and looked as if something very disagreeable had unexpectedly come into his mind, and disturbed his pleasant visions. "No, Eli, I have vowed that I will never touch the can again as long as I live, for I believe it has bewitched you." And really it seemed as if the very mention of the can had made Eli silent and out of humour. Anna thought that he had never forgiven her for having wished to was now a poor lame cripple, who could not work at all, clean it, and said to herself that it was really too bad and did not like to beg. 'O God,' I said, 'thou knowest all this better than I can tell it thee; and thou wilt also know how to help us."" "And what did he answer?" asked Anna, with folded hands and open mouth. "What did he answer, Anna? 6 Thou everywhere hast sway, of him to bear malice so long. But after all, she was glad to see that he had still his old whims and fancies, or she would have feared that he would soon die, he spoke so strangely, and was altogether so altered. But the landlady solved the riddle when she asked for Eli, and said that she had heard that he had become a Pietist in the hospital. This startled Anna, and she got angry, and said if he had really done that she could never forgive him. But when the woman began to warn her about taking Eli back, saying she should consider it well, for the old lame man would be a heavy burden to her ;-the pension was all very well; a hundred and fifty francs was a pretty bit of money, but it would not go far in a year, would not much more than pay the rent; the potatoes were diseased again, bread was always getting dearer; and there would be another hard winter ;-then Anna was softened again, and answered : "Am I to desert him, now that he is a poor, helpless creature, and has nobody else in the world to care for him? No, indeed; and if he was ten times a Pietist, I would feel it a sin if I did not do all I could for him, and share my last crust of bread with him." When Anna returned next morning to the hospital, she found sitting by Eli's bed, a little pleasant-looking woman, who had brought him some fruit, and was now reading from the Bible the beautiful parable of the Prodigal Son. "Alas," thought Anna, "it is all true what the landlady said; Eli is a Pietist, for there sits Mrs. Lindfelder, and she is one too-I know her well." She made a very cross face, and determined to be very short and surly, to show Mrs. Lindfelder that she knew who she was, and did not wish to have anything to do with her. But the woman read God's Word so earnestly and impressively, old Eli lay so still in his bed, with his pale face and folded hands, and listened so reverently, that Anna soon forgot her anger, involuntarily folded her own hands, and when the reader concluded, her heartily spoken Amen joined with old Eli's. When Mrs. Lindfelder had finished, she held out her hand to Anna, and said kindly, "You are going to take old Eli home and nurse him. That is very good of you, and God will bless you for it." Anna took the offered hand hesitatingly, and was at a loss for an answer; but Mrs. Lindfelder did not seem to notice it, and continued: "I am glad to see you back again, Anna, for my own sake, as well as Eli's. Our garden is a disgrace to be seen. With the house work and the little girl, I can get nothing done to it; and even if I had time, I could not do it so well as you. Come for three or four days to me, as soon as you can,— the sooner the better. And, as long as I remember, you will be doing Eli's washing as before, and no one can do it better; but my niece Josephine will undertake the ironing and mending. And bring your own chemisettes too, Anna; Josephine has learned to iron very nicely, and will starch and dress your sleeves, so that you will be delighted with them." Now the snow-white, full, starched sleeves, were Anna's weak point; so she smiled, quite pleased, and said she would be sorry to trouble Josephine with them. "Trouble!" answered Mrs. Lindfelder, "don't speak of that. You are undertaking a true labour of love to this poor old man, and it is our duty as Christians to help you as much as we can." Eli's patience and cheerfulness continued the same, though he had still to remain many weeks in the hospital, and to suffer much pain, before he was able to hobble about a little on his wooden leg. Meanwhile Anna, with Mrs. Lindfelder's help, had made his little room as comfortable as possible, and set her house in order again after her long absence. And she could not understand how it was that from every side kind gifts poured in on her ;-potatoes, wood, coffee, sugar, old linen, and even a few bottles of wine, and an old cushioned arm-chair for poor Eli. She had never felt herself so rich before. It was the blessing of God, Mrs. Lindfelder assured her, which never failed when one tried to serve the Lord Jesus in the person of one of his suffering brethren. At last Eli was brought home in a carriage. That was a fête day for all the inhabitants of the house, and of the little street; for all loved the gentle old man. Anna and the landlady wept, first for joy, and then for grief, when they saw that he had to be lifted out of the carriage by two men, and carried up the steep stair. But Anna's room up-stairs had a holiday air ;-the table was spread, and the cushioned chair stood at the head of it; for Anna had prepared coffee, and invited the landlady, and Mrs. Lindfelder, with her dear little Lena, her two wild boys, and her niece Josephine, to partake of it. All gave Eli a hearty welcome; and the two boys, Dresy (Andreas) and Hammy (Abraham) stood one on each side of the arm-chair, with an important air, as if they were the king's footmen, ready at a sign from their mother to push it backwards or forwards, to the right or to the left. When Eli was seated in the comfortable arm-chair, and the boys, in contemplation of the steaming coffeepot, the new bread, and the apple-cake (which their mother had baked and brought with her), at last ceased pushing it about, he uncovered his head, folded his hands, and said in a trembling voice, while great tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks: "My Lord, and my God, I thank thee: thou hast done great things for me." Here the landlady gave Anna a slight push, and nodded her head towards Eli, as if to say, "Was I not right?" "The Lord bless your going out and your coming in, Eli," said Mrs. Lindfelder, and held out her hand to him. "And look here, Eli," began the pretty Josephinesee what our little Lena has brought you!" and she laid on the table two shirts which she had made in her spare minutes, and had bought the stuff for them out of her little savings. Then followed two red and blue pocket-handkerchiefs. "These are from the boys. And this cap," she continued, with glancing eyes, "this is for you, dear old Anna.” Anna opened her eyes wide: such a beautiful velvet cap, with such fine broad lace, she had never thought to possess. "But, Josephine, where ever did you get the beautiful velvet, and the costly lace ?" |