A Bit of Bala Lake.

CHAPTER IV.

TWO MILES TO A BIBLE.

'Tis written, man shall not live alone,
   By the perishing bread of earth;
Thou givest the soul a richer food
   To nourish the heavenly birth.
And yet to our fields of golden grain
   Thou bringest the harvest morn;
Thine op'ning hand is the life of all,
   For Thou preparest them corn.

Nor did he—as too many farmers are in the habit of doing—repine at Providence, and find fault with God's dealings if the rain came down upon the hay before it was safely carried, or if an early autumn gale laid his wheat even with the earth from which it sprang, ere the sickle could be put into it. Nor did he complain and grumble even when disease showed itself among the breed of small but active cattle of which he was justly proud, and carried off besides some of his fine sheep, destined for the famous Welsh mutton which sometimes is to be found on English tables.

In short, he was contented with what the Lord sent, and said with Job, when a misfortune occurred, "Shall we receive good at the hands of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil?"

Of Mrs. Evans we have already spoken, and if we add here that she was a true helpmeet to her husband, in matters both temporal and spiritual, that is all we need say in her praise.

This worthy couple had three children. The eldest was already grown up; she was a fine girl, and a great comfort and help to her mother. The younger children were boys, who went to a grammar school in a town a mile or two away: they were manly, high-spirited little fellows, well-trained, and as honest and true as their parents.

Such, then, was the family into which our little Mary was welcomed with all love and kindness. She was shy and timid the first time, for the farm-house was a much finer place than any home she had hitherto seen; and there was an atmosphere of warmth, and there were delicious signs of plenty, which were unknown in Jacob Jones's poor little cottage, where everything was upon the most frugal, not to say meagre, scale.

But Mary's shyness did not last long; indeed it disappeared wholly soon after she had crossed the threshold, where she was met by Mrs. Evans with a hearty welcome and a motherly kiss.

"Come in, little one," said the good woman, drawing her into the cosy, old-fashioned kitchen, where a kettle was singing on the hob, and an enticing fragrance of currant shortcake, baking for an early tea, scented the air.

"There, get warm, dear," said Mrs. Evans, "and then you shall go to the parlour, and study the Bible. And have you got a pencil and scrap of paper to take notes if you want them?"

"Yes, thank you, ma'am, I brought them with me," replied Mary.

For a few minutes she sat there, basking in the pleasant, cheery glow of the fire-light; then she was admitted to the parlour, where, on the table in the centre of the room, and covered reverently with a clean white cloth, was the precious book.

It must not be thought from the care thus taken of it that the Bible was never used. On the contrary, it was always read at prayers night and morning; and the farmer, whenever he had a spare half-hour, liked nothing better than to study the sacred book, and seek to understand its teachings.

"There's no need to tell you to be careful of our Bible, and to turn over the leaves gently, Mary, I'm sure," said Mrs. Evans; "you would do that anyway, I know. And now, my child, I'll leave you and the Bible together. When you've learned your lesson for Sunday school, and read all you want, come back into the kitchen and have some tea before you go."

Then the good farmer's wife went away, leaving Mary alone with a Bible for the first time in her life.

Presently the child raised the napkin, and, folding it neatly, laid it on one side.

Then, with trembling hands, she opened the book, opened it at the fifth chapter of John, and her eyes caught these words, "Search the scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify of Me."

"I will! I will!" she cried, feeling as if the words were spoken directly to her by some Divine voice. "I will search and learn all I can. Oh, if I had but a Bible of my own!" And this wish, this sigh for the rare and coveted treasure, was the key-note to a grand chorus of glorious harmony which, years after, spread in volume, until it rolled in waves of sound over the whole earth. Yes, that yearning in a poor child's heart was destined to be a means of light and knowledge to millions of souls in the future. Thus verily has God often chosen the weak things of the world to carry out His great designs, and work His will. And here, once more, is an instance of the small beginnings which have great results—results whose importance is not to be calculated on this side of eternity.

When Mary had finished studying the Scripture lesson for the morrow, and had enjoyed a plentiful meal in the cosy kitchen, she said good-bye to her kind friends, and set off on her homeward journey, her mind full of the one great longing, out of which a resolution was slowly shaping itself.

It was formed at last.

"I 'must' have a Bible of my own!" she said aloud, in the earnestness of her purpose. "I must have one, if I save up for it for ten years!" And by the time this was settled in her mind the child had reached her home.

Christmas had come, and with it some holidays for Mary and the other scholars who attended the school at Abergynolwyn; but our little heroine would only have been sorry for the cessation of lessons, had it not been that during the holidays she had determined to commence carrying out her plan of earning something towards the purchase of a Bible.

Without neglecting her home duties, she managed to undertake little jobs of work, for which the neighbours were glad to give her a trifle. Now it was to mind a baby while the mother was at the wash-tub. Now to pick up sticks and brushwood in the woods for fuel; or to help to mend and patch the poor garments of the family for a worn, weary mother, who was thankful to give a small sum for this timely welcome help.

And every halfpenny, every farthing (and farthings were no unusual fee among such poor people as those of whom we are telling) was put into a rough little money-box which Jacob made for the purpose, with a hole in the lid. The box was kept in a cupboard, on a shelf where Mary could reach it, and it was a real and heartfelt joy to her when she could bring her day's earnings—some little copper coins, perhaps—and drop them in, longing for the time to come when they would have swelled to the requisite sum—a large sum unfortunately—for buying a Bible.

It was about this time that good Mrs. Evans, knowing the child's earnest wish, and wanting to encourage and help her, made her the present of a fine cock and two hens.

"Nay, nay, my dear, don't thank me," said she, when Mary was trying to tell her how grateful she was; "I've done it, first to help you along with that Bible you've set your heart on, and then, too, because I love you, and like to give you pleasure. So now, my child, when the hens begin to lay, which will be early in the spring, you can sell your eggs, for these will be your very own to do what you like with, and you can put the money to any use you please. I think I know what you'll do with it," added Mrs. Evans, with a smile.

But the first piece of silver that Mary had the satisfaction of dropping into her box was earned before she had any eggs to sell, and in quite a different way from the sums which she had hitherto received. She was walking one evening along the road from Towyn, whither she had been sent on an errand for her father, when her foot struck against some object lying in the road; and, stooping to pick it up, she found it was a large leather purse. Wondering whose it could be, the child went on, until, while still within half a mile from home, she met a man walking slowly, and evidently searching for something. He looked up as Mary approached, and she recognized him as Farmer Greaves, a brother-in-law of Mrs. Evans.

"Ah! Good evening, Mary Jones," said he; "I've had such a loss! Coming home from market I dropped my purse, and—"

"I've just found a purse, sir," said Mary; "is this it?"

"You've found a purse?" exclaimed the farmer, eagerly. "Yes, indeed, my dear, that is mine, and I'm very much obliged to you. No, stay a moment," he called after her, for Mary was already trudging off again. "I should like to give you a trifle for your hon—I mean just some trifle by way of thanks."

As he spoke, his finger and thumb closed on a bright shilling, which surely would not have been too much to give to a poor child who had found a heavy purse. But he thought better (or worse) of it, and took out instead a sixpence and handed it to Mary, who took it with very heartfelt thanks, and ran home as quickly as possible to drop her silver treasure safely into the box, where it was destined to keep its poorer brethren company for many a long year.

But the Christmas holidays were soon over, and then it was difficult for Mary to keep up with her daily lessons, and her Sunday school tasks, the latter involving the weekly visits to the farm-house for the study of the Bible. What with these and her home duties, sometimes weeks passed without her having time to earn a penny towards the purchase of the sacred treasure.

Sometimes, too, she was rather late in reaching home on the Saturday evenings, and now and again Molly was uneasy about her. For Mary would come by short cuts over the hills, along ways which, however safe in the daytime, were rough and unpleasant, if not dangerous, after dark; and in these long winter evenings the daylight vanished very early.

It was on one of these occasions that Molly and Jacob Jones were sitting and waiting for their daughter.

The old clock had already struck eight. She had never been so late as this before.

"Our Molly ought to be home, Jacob," said Molly, breaking a silence disturbed only by the noise of Jacob's busy loom. "It's got as dark as dark, and there's no moon to-night. The way's a rugged one, if she comes the short cut across the hill, and she's not one to choose a long road if she can find a shorter, bless her! She's more than after her time. I hope no harm's come to the child," and Molly walked to the window and looked out.

"Don't be fretting yourself, Molly," replied Jacob, pausing in his work; "Mary's out on a good errand, and He who put the love of good things in her heart will take care of her in her going out and in her coming in, from henceforth, even for evermore."

Jacob spoke solemnly, but with a tone of conviction that comforted his wife, as words of his had often done before; and just then a light step bounded up to the door, the latch was lifted, and Mary's lithe young figure entered the cottage, her dark eyes shining with intelligence, her cheeks flushed with exercise, a look of eager animation overspreading the whole of her bright face and seeming to diffuse a radiance round the cottage, while it shone reflected in the countenances of Jacob and Molly.

"Well, child, what have you learned to-day?" questioned Jacob. "Have you studied your lesson for the Sunday school?"

"Ay, father, that I have, and a beautiful lesson it was," responded the child. "It was the lesson and Mr. Evans together that kept me so late."

"How so, Mary?" asked Molly. "We've been right down uneasy about you, fearing lest something had happened to you."

"You needn't have been so, mother dear," replied the little girl, with something of her father's quiet assurance. "God knew what I was about, and He would not let any harm come to me. Oh, father, the more I read about Him the more I want to know, and I shall never rest until I've a Bible of my own. But to-day I've brought home a big bit of the farmer's Bible with me."

"What do you mean, Mary? How could you do such a thing?" questioned Molly in amazement.

"Only in my head, mother dear, of course," replied the child; then in a lower voice she added, "'and my heart.'"

"And what is the bit?" asked Jacob.

"It's the seventh chapter of Matthew," said Mary. "Our Sunday lesson was from the first verse to the end of the twelfth verse. But it was so easy and so beautiful that I went on and on, till I'd learned the whole chapter. And just as I had finished, Mr. Evans came in and asked me if I understood it all; and when I said there were some bits that puzzled me, he was so kind and explained them. If you like, mother and father, I'll repeat you the chapter."

So Jacob pushed away his work, and took his old seat in the chimney corner, and Molly began some knitting, while Mary sat down on a stool at her father's feet, and beginning at the first verse, repeated the whole chapter without a single mistake, without a moment's hesitation, and with a tone and emphasis which showed her comprehension of the truths so beautifully taught, and her sympathy with them.

"Mark my words, wife," said Jacob that night, when Mary had gone to bed, "that child will do a work for the Lord before she dies. See you not how He Himself is leading and guiding His lamb into green pastures and beside still waters? Why, Molly, when she repeated that verse, 'Ask, and ye shall receive,' I saw her eyes shine, and her cheeks glow again, and I knew she was thinking of the Bible that she's set her heart on, and which I doubt not she's praying for often enough when we know nothing about it. And the Lord He will give it her some day. Of that I'm moral certain. Yes, Molly, our Mary will have her Bible!"

"The Word of the Lord endureth for ever."
From a Bible in the Society's Library (C. Barker, 1585).

CHAPTER V.

FAITHFUL IN THAT WHICH IS LEAST.

Since this one talent Thou hast granted me,
I give Thee thanks, and joy, in blessing Thee
     That I am worthy any.
I would not hide or bury it, but rather
Use it for Thee and Thine, O Lord and Father
     And make one talent many.

The successor to John Ellis was Lewis Williams, a man who from a low station in life, and from absolute ignorance, rose to a position of considerable influence and popularity, from an utterly heedless and godless life, to be a God-fearing and noble-minded Christian.

He was a man of small size, and from all that we can learn of his intellect and talents we can hardly think that they were of any high order. But what he lacked in mental gifts, he made up in iron resolution, in a perseverance which was absolutely sublime in its determination not to be baffled.

He was born in Pennal in the year 1774; his parents were poor, but of them nothing further is known.

Like other boys at that time, and in that neighbourhood, he was wild and reckless, breaking the Sabbath continually, and otherwise drawing upon himself the censure of those with whom he was acquainted.

But when he was about eighteen years old, he chanced on one occasion to be at a prayer-meeting, when a Mr. Jones, of Mathafarn, was reading and expounding the fifth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans.

The word of God, thus made known to Lewis Williams in perhaps a fresh and striking manner, was the means of carrying home to his hitherto hard heart the conviction of sin; and a change was from that time observed in him, which gradually deepened, until none could longer doubt that he had become an earnest and consistent Christian.

On the occasion of his requesting to be admitted to membership in a little Methodist church at Cwmllinian, he was asked (probably as one of the test questions), "If Jesus Christ asked you to do some work for Him, would you do it?" His answer gives us the key to his success: "Oh yes; 'whatever' Jesus required of me I would do 'at once.'"

Such was the commencement of the religious life of this most singular man.

Some years after, when in service at a place called Trychiad, near Llanegryn, he could not but notice the ignorance of the boys in the neighbourhood, and, burning with zeal to perform some direct and special work for his Heavenly Master, he resolved to establish there a Sunday school, and a week-night school besides, if possible, in order to teach the lads to read.

This would have been praiseworthy, but still nothing remarkable in the way of an undertaking, had Lewis Williams received any sort of education himself. But as he had never enjoyed a day's schooling in his life, and could hardly read a word correctly, the thought of teaching others seemed, to say the least, rather a wild idea.

But how often the old proverb has been proved true that where there is a will there is a way; and once more was this verified in the experience of Lewis Williams.

Owing to the young man's untiring energy and courage, his school was opened in a short time, and he began the work of instruction, teaching, we are told, the alphabet to the lowest class by setting it to the tune of "The March of the Men of Harlech."

Dr. Moffat, we know, tried the same plan of melody lessons forty years later, with a number of Bechuana children, teaching them their letters to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne" with wonderful facility and success.

But Lewis Williams, if he set up for a schoolmaster at all, could hardly confine his instructions to the lowest class in the school; yet in undertaking the teaching of the older boys, he was coming face to face with an obstacle which might well have seemed insurmountable to any one whose will was less strong or courage less undaunted.

The master could not read, or at least he could neither read fluently nor correctly, yet he had bound himself to teach reading to the lads in his school.

Painfully mindful of his deficiencies, he used, before commencing his Sunday school exercises or his evening classes, to pay a visit to a good woman, Betty Evans by name, who had learned to read well. Under her tuition, he prepared the lessons he was going to give that day or the next, so that in reality the master of that flourishing little school was only beforehand with his scholars by a few hours.

At other times he would invite a number of scholars from an endowed high school in the neighbourhood, to come for reading and argument.

With quiet tact and careful foresight, he would arrange that the subject taken for reading and discussion should include the lesson which he would shortly have to give.

While the reading and talk went on, he listened with rapt attention. The discussions as to the meaning or pronunciation of the more difficult words were all clear gain to him, as familiarizing his mind with what he desired to know.

But none of these youths meeting thus had an inkling that the man who invited them, who spoke so discreetly, and listened so attentively, was himself a learner, and dependent upon them for the proper construction of phrases, or for the correct pronunciation of words occurring in his next day's or week's lessons.

The school duties were always commenced with prayer, and as the master had a restless, unruly set of lads to do with, he invented a somewhat peculiar way of securing their attention for the devotions in which he led them.

Familiar with military exercises through former experiences in the militia, he would put the restless boys through a series of these, and when they came to "stand at ease," and "attention!" he would at once, but very briefly and simply, engage in prayer.

While Lewis Williams was thus hard at work at Llanegryn, seeking to win hearts to the Saviour, and train minds to serve Him, it happened that Mr. Charles of Bala, intending to preside at a members' meeting to be held at Abergynolwyn, arrived at Bryncrug the evening before, and spent the night at the house of John Jones, the schoolmaster of that place.

In the course of conversation with his host, Mr. Charles asked him if he knew of a suitable person to undertake the charge of one of his recently established schools in the neighbourhood. John Jones replied that he had heard of a young man at Llanegryn, who taught the children both on week-nights and Sundays; "but," added the schoolmaster; "as I hear that he himself cannot read, can hardly understand how he is able to instruct others."

"Impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Charles. "How can any one teach what he does not himself know?"

"Still, they say he does so," replied John Jones.

Mr. Charles at once expressed a wish to see this mysterious instructor of youth, who was reported as imparting to others what he did not himself possess. The next day, accordingly, summoned by John Jones, our young schoolmaster made his appearance. His rustic garb, and the simplicity of his manner, gave the impression of his being anything but a pedagogue, whatever might have been said of him.

"Well, my young friend," said Mr. Charles, in the genial pleasant way that was natural to him, and that at once inspired with confidence all with whom he had to do, "they tell me you keep a school at Llanegryn yonder, on Sundays and week-nights, for the purpose of teaching children to read. Have you many scholars?"

"Yes, sir, far more than I am able to teach," replied Lewis Williams.

"And do they learn a little by your teaching?" asked Mr. Charles, as kindly as ever, but with a quaint smile lurking round his mouth.

"I think some of them learn, sir," responded the young teacher, very modestly, and with an overwhelming sense of his own ignorance—a consciousness that showed itself painfully both in his voice and manner.

"Do you understand any English?" questioned Mr. Charles.

"Only a stray word or two, sir, which I picked up when serving in the militia."

"Do you read Welsh fluently?"

"No, sir, I can read but little, but I am doing my very best to learn."

"Were you at a school before beginning to teach?" asked Mr. Charles, more and more interested in the young man who stood so meekly before him.

"No, sir. I never had a day's schooling in my life."

"And your parents did not teach you to read while you were at home?"

"No, sir, my parents could not read a word for themselves."

Mr. Charles opened his Bible at the first chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews, and asked Lewis Williams to read the opening verses.

Slowly, hesitatingly, and with several mistakes, the young man complied, stumbling with difficulty through the first verse.

"That will do, my lad," said Mr. Charles; "but how you are able to teach others to read, passes my comprehension. Tell me now by what plan you instruct the children."

Then the poor young teacher described the methods to which he had recourse for receiving and imparting instruction; he gave an account of his musical A B C; the lessons given to himself by Betty Evans; the readings and discussions of the grammar school boys; and the scholars playing at "little soldiers."

As Lewis Williams proceeded with his confessions (for such they appeared to him), Mr. Charles, with the discernment which seems to have been one of his characteristics, had penetrated through the roughness and uncouthness of the narrator to the real force of character and earnestness of the man. He saw that this humble follower of the Saviour had earnestly endeavoured to improve his one talent, and work with it in the Master's service, and that he only needed help in the development of his capacity, to render him a most valuable servant of Christ. He recommended him therefore to place himself for a time under the tuition of John Jones, and thus fit himself for efficient teaching in his turn.

During the following three months, Lewis Williams followed the advice of Mr. Charles; and this was all the schooling that he ever had.

His self-culture did not, however, cease with the help gained from John Jones. Every hour he could spare was devoted to study, in order to fit himself for one of the schoolmasters' places under Mr. Charles' special control and management. And we are told that in order to perfect himself further in reading, he used to visit neighbouring churches, to study the delivery and reading of the ministers presiding there.

His earnest desire was gratified at last, for in the year 1799—that is, when he was about twenty-five years of age—he was engaged by Mr. Charles as a paid teacher in one of his schools. He was removed to Abergynolwyn a year later, and here, among his pupils, was our young friend Mary Jones.

In his subsequent years of work he was the means of establishing many new schools, and of reviving others which were losing their vitality; and at length, he even became a preacher, so great was his zeal in his Master's service, and so anxious was he that all should know the truth and join in the work of the Lord.

He died in his eighty-eighth year, followed by the sincere gratitude and deep love of the many whom he had benefited.

Our story now returns to Mary Jones, who at the time that Lewis Williams became schoolmaster at Abergynolwyn, was nearly sixteen years old.

She was an active, healthy maiden, full of life and energy, as earnest and as diligent as ever. Nor had her purpose faltered for one moment as regarded the purchase of a Bible. Through six long years she had hoarded every penny, denying herself the little indulgences which the poverty of her life must have made doubly attractive to one so young. She had continued her visits to the farm-house, and while she there studied her Bible lessons for school, her desire to possess God's Holy Book for herself grew almost to a passion.

What joy it would be, she often thought, if every day she could read and commit to memory portions of Scripture, storing her mind and heart with immortal truths. "But the time will come," she had added, "when I shall have my Bible. Yes, though I have waited so long, the time will come." Then on her knees beside her little bed she had prayed aloud,—

   "Dear Lord, let the time come quickly!"

As may be supposed, Mary was the great pride and delight of her parents. She was more useful, more her mother's right hand than ever; and her father, as he looked into her clear, honest, intelligent dark eyes, and heard her recite her lesson for school, or recount for his benefit all the explanations to which she had that day listened, thanked the Lord in his heart, for his brave, God-fearing child, and prayed that she might grow up to be a blessing to all with whom she might have to do in the future.

"If a man love me, he will keep my words."
Tail-piece from Coverdale's New Test. (1538) in the Society's Library.

CHAPTER VI.

ON THE WAY.

A strong, brave heart, and a purpose true,
  Are better than wealth untold,
Planting a garden in barren ways,
  And turning their dust to gold.

"I cannot tell you, Mary, but our preacher, William Huw, will know," replied Jacob; "you will do well to go to him to-morrow, and ask how you're to get the book."

Acting upon her father's suggestion, Mary accordingly went the next day to Llechwedd to William Huw, and to him she put the question so all-important to her. But he replied that not a copy could be obtained (even of the Welsh version published the year before) nearer than of Mr. Charles of Bala; and he added that he feared lest all the Bibles received by Mr. Charles from London had been sold or promised months ago.

This was discouraging news, and Mary went home, cast down indeed, but not in despair. There was still, she reflected, a chance that one copy of the Scriptures yet remained in Mr. Charles's possession; and if so, that Bible should be hers.

The long distance—over twenty-five miles—the unknown road, the far-famed, but to her, strange minister, who was to grant her the boon she craved—all this, if it a little frightened her, did not for one moment threaten to change her purpose.

Even Jacob and Molly, who at first, on account of the distance, objected to her walking to Bala for the purchase of her Bible, ceased to oppose their will to hers; "for," said good Jacob to his wife, "if it's the Lord answering our prayers and leading the child, as we prayed He might, it would ill become us to go against His wisdom."

And so our little Mary had her way, and having received permission for her journey, she went to a neighbour living near, and telling her of her proposed expedition, asked if she would lend her a wallet to carry home the treasure should she obtain it.

The neighbour, mindful of Mary's many little acts of thoughtful kindness towards herself and her children, and glad of any way in which she could show her grateful feeling and sympathy, put the wallet into the girl's hand, and bade her good-bye with a hearty "God speed you!"

The next morning, a fresh, breezy day in spring, in the year 1800, Mary rose almost as soon as it was light, and washed and dressed with unusual care; for was not this to be a day of days—the day for which she had waited for years, and which must, she thought, make her the happiest of girls, or bring to her such grief and disappointment as she had never yet known?

Her one pair of shoes—far too precious a possession to be worn on a twenty-five mile walk—Mary placed in her wallet, intending to put them on as soon as she reached the town.

Early as was the hour, Molly and Jacob were both up to give Mary her breakfast of hot milk and bread, and have family prayer, offering a special petition for God's blessing on their child's undertaking, and for His protection and care during her journey.

This fortified and comforted Mary, and, kissing her parents, she went out into the dawn of that lovely day—a day which lived in her remembrance till the last hour of her long and useful life.

She set out at a good pace—not too quick, for that would have wearied her ere a quarter of her journey could be accomplished, but an even, steady walk, her bare brown feet treading lightly but firmly along the road, her head erect, her clear eyes glistening, her cheek with a healthy flush under the brown skin. So she went—the bonniest, blithest maiden on that sweet spring morning in all the country round.

CADER IDRIS.

Never before had everything about her looked to Mary as it looked on that memorable morning. The dear old mountain seemed to gaze down protectingly upon her. The very sun, as it came up on the eastern horizon, appeared to have a smile specially for her. The larks soared from the meadow till their trilling died away in the sky, like a tuneful prayer sent up to God. The rabbits peeped out at her from leafy nooks and holes, and even a squirrel, as it ran up a tree, stopped to glance familiarly at our little maiden, as much as to say, "Good morning, Mary; good luck to you!" And the girl's heart was attuned to the blithe loveliness of nature, full of thankfulness for the past and of hope for the future.

And now, leaving our heroine bravely wending her way towards Bala, we will Just record briefly the history of that good and earnest man on whom the child's hopes and expectations were this day fixed, and who therefore, in Mary's eyes, must be the greatest and most important person—for the time—in the world.

But apart from the ideas and opinions of a simple girl, Thomas Charles of Bala was in reality a person of great influence and high standing in Wales, and had been instrumental in the organization and execution of much important and excellent work, in places where ignorance and darkness had hitherto prevailed. Hence the name (by which he often went) of "the Apostolic Charles of Bala."

He was now about fifty years of age, and had spent twenty years in going about among the wildest parts of Wales, preaching the Word of Life, forming schools, and using his great and varied talents wholly in the service of his Master.

At the age of eighteen he had given himself to the Saviour, and his first work for the Lord was in his own home, where he was the means of instituting family worship and exerting an influence for good none the less powerful that it was loving and gentle.

His education was begun at Carmarthen, and continued at Oxford, and we learn that the Rev. John Newton was a kind and good friend to him during a part of his student life, and that on one occasion his vacation was spent at the house of this excellent man.

The Rev. Thomas Charles became an ordained minister of the Church of England in due course, but owing to the faithful and outspoken style of his preaching, many of his own denomination took offence and would not receive him; so he seceded from the Church of England and joined the Welsh Calvinistic Methodists; but his greatest work hitherto had been the establishment of Day and Sunday Schools in Wales. The organization of these, the selection of paid teachers, the periodical visiting and examination of the various schools, made Mr. Charles's life a very busy one. But as he toiled on, he could see that his labour was not in vain. Wherever he went, carrying the good news, proving it in his life, spending all he was and all he had in the service of Christ,—the darkness that hung over the people lifted, and the true light began to shine.

The ignorance and immorality gave place to a desire for knowledge and holiness, and the soil that was barren and stony became the planting-place of sweet flowers and pleasant fruits.

Such, in brief, was the man—and such his work up to the time of Mary Jones's journey to Bala.

About the middle of the day Mary stopped to rest and to eat some food which her mother had provided for her. Under a tree in a grassy hollow not far from the road, she half reclined, protected from the sun by the tender green of the spring foliage, and cooling her hot dusty feet in the soft damp grass that spread like a velvet carpet all over the hollow.

Ere long too she spied a little stream, trickling down a hill on its way to the sea, and here she drank, and washed her face and hands and feet, and was refreshed.

Half an hour's quiet rested her thoroughly, then she jumped up, slung her wallet over her shoulder again, and recommenced her journey.

The rest of the way, along a dusty road for the most part, and under a warm sun, was fatiguing enough; but the little maiden plodded patiently on, though her feet were blistered and cut with the stones, and her head ached and her limbs were very weary.

Once a kind cottager, as she passed, gave her a drink of butter-milk, and a farmer's little daughter, as Mary neared her destination, offered her a share of the supper she was eating as she sat in the porch in the cool of the evening; but these were all the adventures or incidents in Mary's journey till she got to Bala.

On arriving there, she followed out the instructions that had been given her by William Huw, and went to the house of David Edwards, a much respected Methodist preacher at Bala.

This good man received her most kindly, questioned her as to her motive in coming so far, but ended by telling her that owing to Mr. Charles's early and regular habits (one secret of the large amount of work which he accomplished), it was now too late in the day to see him.

"But," added the kind old man, seeing his young visitor's disappointment, "you shall sleep here to-night, and we will go to Mr. Charles's as soon as I see light in his study-window to-morrow morning, so that you may accomplish your errand in good time, and be able to reach home before night."

With grateful thanks Mary accepted the hospitality offered her, and after a simple supper, she was shown into the little prophet's chamber where she was to sleep.

There, after repeating a chapter of the Bible, and offering an earnest prayer, she lay down, her mind and body alike resting, her faith sure that her journey would not be in vain, but that He who had led her safely thus far, would give her her heart's desire.

And the curtains of night fell softly about the good preacher's humble dwelling, shadowing the sleepers there; and the rest of those sleepers was sweet, and their safety assured, for watching over them was the God of the night and the day—the God whom they loved and trusted, and underneath them were the Everlasting Arms.

A CORNER OF BALA LAKE.

BALA.

CHAPTER VII.

TEARS THAT PREVAIL.

Often tears of joy and sorrow meet;
Marah's bitter waters turn'd to sweet.

BALA is even now a quiet little town, situated near the end of Bala Lake, on the north side of a wide, cultivated valley. A hundred years ago, it was more quiet and rural still. The scenery is pastoral in its character, hilly rather than mountainous, but well wooded and watered. The town is a favourite resort of people fond of shooting and fishing. Altogether it is a pretty, cheerful, healthy spot, but wanting in the imposing grandeur and rugged beauty of many other parts of North Wales.

Such, then, was the place to which our little heroine's weary feet had brought her on the preceding evening, and such was the home—for the greater part of his life—of Thomas Charles of Bala.

Mary's deep, dreamless sleep was not broken until her host knocked at her door at early dawning.

"Wake up, Mary Jones, my child! Mr. Charles is an early riser, and will soon be at work. The dawn is breaking; get up, dear!"

Mary started up, rubbing her eyes. The time had really come, then, and in a few minutes she would know what was to be the result of her long waiting.

BALA LAKE.

Her heart beat quicker as she washed and dressed, but her excitement calmed when she sat down for a minute or two on the side of her bed, and repeated the 23rd Psalm.

The sweet words of the royal singer were the first that occurred to her, and now, as she murmured "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," she felt as though she were of a truth being watched over and cared for by a loving Shepherd, and being led by Him.

She was soon ready, and David Edwards and his guest proceeded together to Mr. Charles's house.

"There's a light in his study," said the good old preacher. "Our apostle is at his desk already. There are not many like him, Mary; always at work for the Master. The world would be better had we more such men."

Mary did not reply, but she listened intently as David Edwards knocked at the door. There was no answer, only the tread of a foot across the floor above, and the next moment the door opened, and Mr. Charles himself stood before them.

"Good morning, friend Edwards! And what brings you here so early? Come in, do," said the genial, hearty voice, which so many knew, and had cause to love. Then, as David Edwards entered, Mr. Charles noticed the little figure behind him in the doorway.

A rather timid shrinking little figure it was now, for Mary's courage was fast ebbing away, and she felt shy and frightened.

A few words of explanation passed between the old preacher and Mr. Charles; then Mary was invited to enter the study.

"Now, my child," said Mr. Charles, "don't be afraid, but tell me all about yourself, where you live, and what your name is, and what you want."

At this Mary took courage and answered all Mr. Charles's questions, her voice (which at first was low and tremulous) strengthening as her courage returned. She told him all about her home and her parents, her longing when quite a child for a Bible of her own, then of the long years during which she had saved up her little earnings towards the purchase of a Bible—the sum being now complete.

Then Mr. Charles examined her as to her Scripture knowledge, and was delighted with the girl's intelligent replies, which showed how earnestly and thoroughly she had studied the Book she loved so well.

"But how, my child," said he, "did you get to know the Bible as you do, when you did not own one for yourself?"

Then Mary told him of the visits to the farm-house, and how, through the kindness of the farmer and his wife, she had been able to study her Sunday school lessons, and commit portions of Scripture to memory.

As she informed Mr. Charles of all that had taken place, and he began to realize how brave, and patient, and earnest, and hopeful she had been through all these years of waiting, and how far she had now come to obtain possession of the coveted treasure, his bright face became overshadowed, and, turning to David Edwards, he said, sadly, "I am indeed grieved that this dear girl should have come all the way from Llanfihangel to buy a Bible, and that I should be unable to supply her with one. The consignment of Welsh Bibles that I received from London last year was all sold out months ago, excepting a few copies which I have kept for friends whom I must not disappoint. Unfortunately the Society which has hitherto supplied Wales with the Scriptures declines to print any more, and where to get Welsh Bibles to satisfy our country's need I know not."

Until now, Mary had been looking up into Mr. Charles's face, with her great, dark eyes full of hope and confidence; but as he spoke these words to David Edwards, and she noticed his overclouded face, and began to understand the full import of his words, the room seemed to her to darken suddenly, and, dropping into the nearest seat, she buried her face in her hands, and sobbed as, perhaps, few girls of her age had ever sobbed before.

It was all over, then, she said to herself—all of no use—the prayers, the longing, the waiting, the working, the saving for six long years, the weary tramp with bare feet, the near prospect of her hopes being fulfilled, all, all in vain! And to a mind so stocked with Bible texts as hers, the language of the Psalmist seemed the natural outburst for so great a grief, "Hath God forgotten to be gracious? Hath He in anger shut up His tender mercies?" All in vain—all of no use! And the poor little head, lately so erect, drooped lower and lower, and the sunburnt hands, roughened by work and exposure, could not hide the great hot tears that rolled down, chasing each other over cheeks out of which the accustomed rosy tint had fled, and falling unheeded through her fingers.

There were a few moments during which only Mary's sobs broke the silence; but those sobs had appealed to Mr. Charles's heart with a pathos which he was wholly unable to resist.

With his own voice broken and unsteady, he said, as he rose from his seat, and laid a hand on the drooping head of the girl before him: "My dear child, I see you 'must' have a Bible, difficult as it is for me to spare you one. It is impossible, yes, simply impossible, to refuse you."

In the sudden revulsion of feeling that followed these words, Mary could not speak; but she glanced up with such a face of mingled rain and sunshine—such a rainbow smile—such a look of inexpressible joy and thankfulness in her brimming eyes, that the responsive tears gushed to the eyes—both Mr. Charles and David Edwards.

Mr. Charles turned away for a moment to a book-cupboard that stood behind him, and opening it, he drew forth a Bible.

Then, laying a hand once more on Mary's head, with the other he placed the Bible in her grasp, and, looking down the while into the earnest, glistening eyes upturned to him, he said:

"If you, my dear girl, are glad to receive this Bible, truly glad am I to be able to give it to you. Read it carefully, study it diligently, treasure up the sacred words in your memory, and act up to its teachings."

And then, as Mary, quite overcome with delight and thankfulness, began once more to sob, but softly, and with sweet, happy tears, Mr. Charles turned to the old preacher, and said, huskily, "David Edwards, is not such a sight as this enough to melt the hardest heart? A girl, so young, so poor, so intelligent, so familiar with Scripture, compelled to walk all the distance from Llanfihangel to Bala (about fifty miles there and back) to get a Bible! From this day I can never rest until I find out some means of supplying the pressing wants of my country that cries out for the Word of God."