Oh, there was joy in that village that night again and again the children told their interesting story, and those who listened forgot to chide their disobedience, or to harshly reprove.  Need I tell you how they were pressed to the bosoms of the villagers; how tears were shed for their sufferings, and those of the little lost Winona, whom they did not forget; how caresses were lavished upon them, and prayers offered to God, that their lives, which he had so wonderfully preserved, might be spent in usefulness and piety?  No, I need not, for you can imagine it all.

The sermon which was so happily interrupted by the return of the children was the first Mr. Wilson had attempted to preach since the day they were stolen; the wounds he that day received, and the illness that immediately afterwards ensued, with his unutterable grief for the loss of his children, had confined him mostly to his bed during their absence.  On the next Sabbath, Emma and Anna accompanied their father and mother once more to church, when Mr. Wilson preached from these words:  “Oh, give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good, and his mercy endureth forever.”

[Illustration:  My Grandmother’s Cottage]

MY GRANDMOTHER’S COTTAGE.

BY REV.  J.G.  ADAMS.

Of all places in the wide world, my own early home excepted, none seem to me more pleasing in memory than my grandmother’s cottage.  Very often did I visit it in my boyhood, and well acquainted with its appearance within, and with almost every object around it, did I become.  It stood in a quiet nook in the midst of the woods, about five miles from the pleasant seaport where I was born.  The cottage was not a spacious one.  It had but few rooms in it; but it was amply large for my aged grandparents, I remember.  They lived happily there.  My grandfather was somewhat infirm; my grandmother was a very vigorous person for one of seventy-five; this was her age at the time of my first recollection of her.  She used to walk from her cottage to our home; and once I walked with her, but was exceedingly mortified that I could not endure the walk so well as she did.

I used to love this cottage home, because it was so quiet, and in the summer time so delighting to me.  I believe I received some of my very first lessons in the love of nature in this place.  It was a charming summer or winter retreat.  If the sun shone warmly down anywhere, it was here.  If the wind blew kindly anywhere, it was around the snug cottage, sheltered as it was on every side by the tall old pines.  If the robin’s note came earliest anywhere in the spring-time, it was from the large spreading apple-tree just at the foot of the little garden lot.  How often has my young heart been delighted with his song there!  And then, what sweet chanting I have heard in those woods all the day from the thrush and sparrow, yellow-bird and oriole!  How their mellow voices would seem to echo in the noon-silence, or at the sunset hour, as though they were singing anthems in some vast cathedral!  They were; and what anthems of nature’s harmony and praise!  God heard them, and was glorified.