Master, he would rise a great while before day that he might be alone with his God, and by communion with Him might gain strength and wisdom for his work. They knew how his latest hour at night was devoted to the study of his Bible. Day by day they beheld him fulfilling the command, 'Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.'

I can give you no letters to his little boy, for he seems to have been but little separated from him; but some of his letters to his daughter, the young Queen of Navarre, have been preserved, and I shall copy two of them.

To his dear and well-beloved daughter, Isabel, a father's greeting and love.-Dear child, because I think you will listen to me more gladly than to any one else, for the love you bear me, I am minded to send you some instructions with my own hand. I would have you love our Saviour with your whole heart and all your strength, for without this love nothing can benefit us. That man

is indeed gone far astray whose heart is fixed on any object out of Him or beneath Him; and our devotion to Him ought to be boundless as His grace and mercy are to us. Let the desire to please Him who has accomplished our redemption never depart from you; so that, were there no rewards for well-doing, and no punishments for sins, you should still shun the one and seek after the other for the pure love of Him.'

Here is part of another letter:

'Dear child, love to serve God in His church, and when there, put away wandering thoughts and vain words. Join in the prayers both with heart and lips, and take delight in hearing our blessed Lord spoken of either in sermons or private conversations, and avoid intimacy with any but those of pure and holy life.

'Dear daughter, if sickness, or any other evil that does not admit of remedy, should torment you, take it patiently, knowing that it is for good, and that you have deserved yet worse at the hands of God for many shortcomings

and misdoings. If He send prosperity, make it not an occasion of pride, or any other vice, for it is a great sin to turn the Lord's gifts against Him. Dear child, ever show gentleness towards those who are vexed at heart, or ill in body, and comfort them with alms or sympathy according to their need. . . .

'Meseems you should not lay up much more costly apparel, or more jewels than your royal estate needs; but rather give of your abundance to the poor. And methinks it were not well you should spend too much time in decking out your body, but incline rather to too little adorning than too much. Dear child, seek to obtain the prayers of good men for yourself and for me also. I enjoin you to show this writing to no one, without my leave, unless it be to your brother; and the Lord grant you may grow in all goodness, as much as I can desire, nay, far more than I can desire. Amen.'

But this useful and happy life was, after sixteen peaceful years, rudely interrupted, and the loving royal family was separated, never again to meet on earth.

Such frequent and sad accounts reached the king of the sufferings and distress of the Christians at the hands of the Saracens, that his tender heart was torn, and his indignation aroused. He organized another crusade, happily the last, and accompanied by many princes,amongst others, by Prince Edward of England, and an army of sixty thousand men, they embarked at Marseilles. Louis was beguiled out of his course by the cunning devices of the dey or governor of Tunis, who promised to liberate all Christian prisoners, to become his faithful ally, and even to embrace his religion. Alas! on landing, they found enemies, not friends; all the fair promises were but lures to destruction. On those unhealthy shores the king lingered, waiting for the arrival of his brother with the second part of the expedition, intending then to destroy the city, so long the stronghold of cruel pirates, and deliver the captive Christians. Day after day passed away, and fatal illness attacked the camp. Prince Tristan,

6

who was born amidst the disasters of one crusade, breathed his last amid the troubles of another: a few hours of suffering, and the sorrowful was where neither sorrow nor suffering can come. The separation between him and his loved father was but brief: a few days more, and he too was stricken. Calling his eldest son to his side, he gave him with his dying breath truly royal and Christian counsel,' ending thus: Most dear son, I give thee all the benediction that a good father can give his son; and may the blessed Trinity and the holy ones be thy guard, and redeem thee from all evil. And God give thee grace always to do His will, so that He may be honoured in thee; and that, after this transitory life, thou and we may meet in His presence for ever.'

Great was the grief, bitter and loud the lamentations, when the sad news spread. Strong men sobbed aloud as the royal tent was taken down, and all the host could see on that bed of death the king they honoured, the father they loved. His family and friends knelt weeping beside him; they could hear him murmur such holy words as— 'My Saviour, I will worship Thee in Thy holy temple; I will adore Thee in Thy city. Onward, onward to Jerusalem !' Then, as his biographer adds, 'he folded his hands on his breast, and looking stedfastly up to heaven, he gave up his gentle spirit at the same hour in which the Son of God died on the cross.'

It was as a bereaved and heart-broken family that that once gallant army returned home. And sorrowful was the procession through France; till at length all that was mortal of that saintly king was laid to rest in the church of St. Denis-the boy he had loved so well, and trained so wisely, lying beside him. There they have rested quietly, all unheeding the horrors of revolution which have been there perpetrated. Their tomb alone, amongst those of the kings of France, was respected even by the furious mob that despoiled that church; for of Louis IX. even they said, 'He was the friend of his people.'

K.

SKETCHES OF CANADIAN LIFE.

N

NO. I.

'CAMPING OUT.'

OVEMBER'S dull days have come once more, and we look round on falling leaves and russet colouring, which tell all too plainly that summer has gone. The late autumn days in England are sombre and rather dreary, perhaps ; but, in the New World, the dying year puts forth all its glory, and arrays itself in a garment of many colours, before the snow comes to wrap the brown earth in one great white winding-sheet. So, while the yellow leaves

float down, one by one, and the heavy fog lies thick and low upon the meadows, and the robin trills its mournful farewell to summer, and young folks begin to wish that Christmas were not so very far off, you shall listen to a tale of a pleasant autumn holiday that was once spent in Canadian woods.

It had been a long-talked-of expedition; and Charlie and Maud Waterton were wild with delight, when, one day, their father announced that they might accompany him on the following morning, when he was to go on a short hunting excursion into the bush. Cousin Dorothy, who happened to be their visitor at the time, begged to be allowed to make one of the party; and Charlie added his request, that his great friend and schoolfellow, Walter Farley, might not be left out. So it was all arranged; and daybreak next morning saw the happy party starting in a country waggon, with plenty of wraps and buffalorobes, for their fifteen miles drive; while mamma and the little ones stood on the steps of the verandah to bid

them farewell. It was very chilly, for during the night there had been a slight frost; and now it lay, white and glistening, on the grass of the common across which their road passed; and even the rough rails of the snake-fences looked bright, as though they had been set with gems. A mile or two of good road took them out of the little town, and then the waggon jolted into a wood-path, which followed the bank of Lake Ontario for some distance. The blue water stretched away, as far as the eye could reach, calm and still; and the little curling waves rolled up with a sighing plash over the smooth pebbles of the beach; but though it looked so inviting, they had to leave the blue lake behind them. Then a road, made of round pine-logs, called a corduroy, led them through a cedar swamp, upon which the waggon rolled and bumped, until the young party nearly tumbled out with sheer merriment. After that came the woodsthe great, solemn woods. Oh, how lovely they were that bright morning, when the sun rose high in the heavens, and every tree, decked in crimson, or purple, or gold, was bathed in a rosy, misty light!

'It is like fairy-land!' exclaimed Maud.

'A true Indian summer day,' said their father; ' and it looks likely to last, I think, all the time we are out.' 'Only fancy,' said Maud again, 'sleeping under a tent! Won't it be strange, Cousin Dorothy?'

'Ah! you are afraid already, Miss Maud; I can see that very plainly,' cried her brother. Never mind, we will light a fire big enough to scare away all the bears and wolves, depend upon it.'

At last they reached their destination; and there they found awaiting them an old Indian, named Tobico, and another younger hunter, whose name no one could recollect. The tents were pitched; a fire was lighted; and there they were, a happy party 'camped out' for three days. Cousin Dorothy and Maud arranged the interior of the tents to their satisfaction, and then they proceeded to prepare a meal; for you may imagine all were ready