again with Holland, and that the Dutch were defeated in that war, and many of their ships taken. But we will not dwell upon this now, for our stories have of late had so much to do with battles and fighting, that I think it will be well to turn from such scenes for the present, and to talk a little about other matters. There is, as I said, a mournful tale to be related, and we will proceed to it at once. What I am going to tell you occurred about five years after the commencement of Charles's reign.

You have, perhaps, heard of the plague of London-the dreadful judgment which cut off such a large number of the inhabitants of that city, one hundred thousand,-in the space of about six months. It was in the spring of the year, that this fearful disease made its first appearance. In the course of a week, nine deaths were reported to have occurred, and every body began to take alarm. But when, the week after, it was said that only three more had died, hope revived, and men tried to persuade themselves that there was not so much danger as they had believed, and that there was no need to be disturbed about the matter. But they were mistaken. The number of those who died of the Plague in the next week, was fourteen; the week after, seventeen; then it rose to forty-three, then to a

hundred and twelve, and so it went on rapidly increasing, till the number amounted to hundreds and thousands weekly. And now the people were frightened indeed. The king and the royal family hastened from London to escape the infection. So also did large numbers of the nobility, and of the principal citizens; but there were many more who knew not where to flee, or who were compelled by circumstances to remain, and amongst these the Plague made fearful ravages.

The city was now divided into districts, and over these were appointed persons who had various offices assigned them; some were to act as searchers and examiners, and others as watchers or nurses. As soon as it was discovered that the Plague had entered any house, orders were given for that house to be immediately closed. A large red cross, a foot long, was painted upon the door, as the sign that the Plague was there, and the words, "Lord have mercy upon us," were inscribed above. And then, for a whole month, no one was allowed to enter. Those within were to remain as they were, to help one another, 'or to sicken and die together. The heat of the weather at that time was intense; and this increased the sufferings of the poor sick people. Sometimes they became quite frantic, and then they would spring from their beds, and throw themselves

from the windows; or rush, if they could make their escape from the house, into the river. But their sufferings did not last long. The Plague did its work of destruction with fearful rapidity. In the course of only a few hours, those who had before been well, and strong, and active, sickened, died, and were buried! Many perished in the streets, cut off in the very midst of their daily occupations. It might truly be said, that "there was not a house in which there was not one dead; and often many more than one. Whole families were, in many instances, swept away, without leaving a single survivor to tell the sad news to their neighbours or their friends.

When we think of London as it is now, with all its bustle, and its action, its crowded streets and shops, so full of business and of life, we can hardly imagine what its appearance must have been then. There were rows of houses, all empty, with the red cross still glaring on the door. The chief streets desolate and forsaken, and overgrown with grass. The shops closed; no business going on, no joy, no merriment to be heard,- "the doors were shut in the streets." Or if two or three persons were seen walking along here and there, they were never seen together; but on opposite sides of the way, as far apart as possible; for fear had estranged people from their nearest

neighbours, and made every one unsocial and selfish; each thought only of his own safety, and dreaded the approach of his fellows, lest they should bring infection with them.

And then at night,-sounds were heard then indeed, but what sounds? There was the rumbling of the death-cart, as its wheels rolled heavily along the streets. Presently there was a pause. The cart stopped, and the tinkling of a bell was heard; and then there was a call made at the door of each house, "Bring out your dead, bring out your dead." And the doors opened, and the dead bodies, uncoffined as they were, were brought out, and hastily and in silence cast into the cart. Again it moved on, and again it stopped; and the bell sounded, and the call was heard, "Bring out your dead." And more were car ried out, and thrown in; and at last the dreadful load was complete, and the cart conveyed the bodies to some neighbouring churchyard, where a large deep pit had been dug to receive them, and they were cast in there! No knell was tolled, no service was read, no minister was there to speak a word of comfort to the living, or to commit the dead to the grave,"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." No-all was done in haste, and in silence, in the gloom of night; and those who were thus employed to-day in burying others, might, ere

to-morrow's dawn, be themselves numbered among the dead! All felt that to be a solemn time even those who had never known what it was to feel or think before.

And now, though all the other public places were empty, the churches were filled and crowded. On the sabbath-day, and on other days too as often as there was opportunity, people came flocking to the house of God. They worshipped, and prayed, and heard then, as though they expected they should never pray nor hear again. And from Sunday to Sunday, as the weeks passed, oh, what changes, what sad changes, there were in every church and congregation! The minister looked around, and he missed one and another from their accustomed places, where, but one short week before, they had sat or stood listening to his words, and joining with him in the service. Then they were in full health and vigour, but where were they now? He well knew. The Plague had come, and carried. them away; their bodies had been cast into the deep grave-pit, and their spirits were gone to the God who gave them! But we may hope that many thoughtless people in the city of London then, were led by that fearful pestilence not only to think, and to feel, and to fear, but really to repent, and to begin to serve that God whom they had hitherto for