T the beginning of the thirteenth century Europe was jared by numerous wars; some of them were domestic, and others had been undertaken by royal or noble adventurers, greedy for conquest. Fire and the sword had passed from kingdom to kingdom; the people were impoverished and sick of voilence and war. Civilization was at a low ebb, and men every where were weary of their long struggles for peace. Into this condition of society came way worn pilgrims from the Holy Land, bringing tidings of the wretched plight of the shrines which Christian hands had reared, and telling harrowing tales of the indignities heaped on holy men who went to worship or pay their vows at the birthplace and sepulchre of our Lord.

To these appeals for succour there was no response. The country was poor and the people tired of wars. A crusade would not pay. The popular religion of the times was not much better than heathenism, and the threats and entreaties of priests were alike unheeded.

In the gloomy old town of Cloyes, situated in the part of France now known as the Department of Eure-et-Loire, in 1212, lived a young lad named Stephen. The scant history of the times tells us only that he was a shepherd boy, that he was about sixteen years old, that he tended a flock on the hills of the Loire, which flows through the town. His family name is not recorded; he is known in history only as Stephen of Cloyes.

Stephen had heard the passionate appeals of the priests, and had seen the tears of returning pilgrims as they recounted the perils of the way to the Holy Land and pictured the sufferings which our Lord had endured through his disciples at Jerusalem. His heart had been stirred within him as he saw that there was not one to help the distressed Church and her faithful cross-bearers.

There appeared to him one day a strange man, who commended his zeal and pious tears. To the wonder-stricken, rapt youth he announced

himself as Jesus Christ. He gave him commission to preach a crusade to the children, promising that he should lead to Palestine an army that should occupy the land and restore the Holy Sepulchre. Into his hand he delivered a letter to the king of France, commanding the monarch to aid the heaven-appointed apostle of the new crusade. Filled with rapture, Stephen flew to his parents, told his marvellous story, and exhibited his celestial letter to the king. The simple people listened with amazement and perplexity. They asked for the heavenly visitant; but he had disappeared as mysteriously as he came. We can only guess who and what he was. Probably he was a priest of the neighbourhood, who, hearing of Stephen's kindling enthusiasm, had disguised himself in pilgrim garb, and had thus visited and misled the simple boy.

Stephen soon proved how apt a pupil he was. Fired with strange ardour and gifted with great natural powers of oratory, the lad kindled innumerable hearts with burning zeal. Leaving Cloyes, he went to the city of St. Denys, then famous as the burial-place of the martyr Dionysius. Placing himself before the shrine of this early victim to the rage of the heathen, he addressed the multitudes who came thither to worship.

The people heard with awe, not unmixed with doubt. The religion of the time was overlaid with much ridiculous superstition. Legends of heathen deities were intermingled with monkish tales and lies. Divine appearances and angelic visitations were believed to be common; and not a few were ready to accept Stephen as a divinely-` appointed prophet. He is said to have healed the sick by his touch; and the fame of his youth, piety and high mission spread far and wide. Nevertheless there was no movement of the people towards his ban

ner.

Men were disturbed by the civil wars that then rent France. There were many rulers, and the fertile provinces of that beautiful land were trampled by hostile forces. But the children were caught up by this strange enthusiasm. Like a contagion, the crusading spirit spread from Brittany to the Rhine. Stephen traversed the country, speeding from city to city, and everywhere calling on the children to hear the voice of God commanding them to save the Holy City from the defilement of the Moslems.

The young apostle must have been a youth of rare power. His appearance was in all places hailed with wild enthusiasm. He fascinated the children and youth. Inspired by his words, these young

The Coral Islands.

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people seemed to be transfused with an unaccountable zeal. They passed into a state of spiritual exaltation not now easily to be understood. Boys and girls of ten or twelve years of age left their games and toys, or their tasks and homes, and joined the three-pointed, bloodred banner of the young crusader. Here and there minor prophets sprang up, preaching the sacred mission of Stephen and avowing him as their leader. Like a flame the movement spread, sweeping children of tender years, and even maturer youths, into the ranks of the augmenting army. Children escaped from the confinement in which parents thought it necessary to put them; they were deaf to the voice of authority and the call of affection. They flew, they ran, they poured, they tumultuously streamed to the banner of the Children's Crusade, re-echoing once more the cry which had followed the fiery cross of Peter the Hermit," God wills it! God wills it!"

The king of France was forced to turn his attention from his ambitious and selfish plans, and to regard attentively this phenomenon. Not daring to suppress a crusade, he asked the opinon of the University of Paris. The learned doctors of that conclave very sensibly, we must think, advised that the matter be stopped. This was not so easy. The infatuation had grown too strong in volume. The government was powerless against these elusive streams of singing, praying children. Like a rolling snowball, the vast mass grew as it moved, until countless numbers had poured into the columns of Stephen's army. People were aghast at their own inability to lay a straw in the way of this wonderful army.-St. Nicholas.

THE CORAL ISLANDS.

In the far-distant tropics,

Under bright southern skies,

Where the blue deep sea is wild and free,

The coral islands rise.

Those glorious isles where all

In beauty seems to bloom,

And the breezes rise to the clear blue skies,

Laden with sweet perfume.

There birds of varied plumage

Float idly in the air;

And the fire-fly bright, in the busy night,

Does its tiny lantern bear.

How came they there? those lovely isles,
They have not always been;
But slowly up, from ocean's cup,
Has grown the beauteous scene.

Not by the mighty effort

Of giant strength untold;

Or to thunder's roar, or storm's outpour, Came up those sands of gold.

Not by a rude upheaval

Of Vulcan's hidden fire,

With smoke and ash, and firey flash,
And hollow mutterings dire;

But by the constant labour

Of a tiny little thing,

That can ever stay in the drop of spray
That drips from a sea-bird's wing.

And all these isles so rich

In bird, and fruit, and flower,

Are witness strong, through cen'tries long,
To this little insect's power.

Each came, and lived, and worked,
And died, and passed away :

But it's work will live, and a blessing give
For many and many a day.

Our lives are like these islands,
Built up of moments small;
No act so great may be our fate,
Our life be trifles all.

Yet we may truly work

And nobly fashion these,

That its end may bear a crown so fair
Of noble forest trees.

Little actions kindly done,

Little trifles nobly wrought.

May lighten care, and live for e'er,

And be with blessing fraught.

Then let us do our work

The work of present time;

Nor idly wait for martyr's fate

Or way to heaven sublime.

We may as surely reach

That happy rest of ours:

Its fields so green, and glittering sheen
Of never fading flowers.

Old Chloe's Story.

By a steady, constant doing
Of His, our Master's will,
Going day by day our lowly way
Till we our work fulfil.

Then he will call us home

To rest for ever there

Free (in his arms) from all alarms,

And from all earthly care.-W. W. Kolston.

89

OLD CHLOE'S STORY.

'In Rout for Jerusalem.'

BY MRS JANE D. CHAPLIN.

I's had a powerful great 'sperience since I see you, ma'am,' said oldChloe to a lady who was interested in her earnest piety. 'I's been in de deep waters and trough de flames, but I's come out widout dampin' my clothes or gettin' de smell o' fire on my garmients, and I's proved de Lor' dat has promise to be wid me in six troubles an' not to forsake me in seven! I's been down in de valley, but now I's on top of Mount Zion, shoutin' de praise o' Him as bring His chosen ones out o' great and sore troubles into a large place.

'Down home, in de war times, I was only seamster; but big Molly was nuss to massa's mudderless little gals. She fell desper't in love wid a big black soger from de North; and sayin' she must help de Lord in de great and mighty work He was doin' for our people, she clar off wid him, and leave de poor little dears-just as if de Lor' wouldn't lick de whole creation-if He want to-widout de help of a saucy yaller gal!'

'Massa he have to clar for his life, and he says to me, ' don't let my chil'n starve,' says he. 'Dem Northern brutes, dat would shoot me like I was a dog will honour you, and spare my chil'n for your sake,' says he,

'Massa,' says I, 'dem chil'n can't starve if dey tries! Dey is de seed of de righteous. Yer wife's chil'n will never go a beggin' bread, howsomever big sinner yer is. Yer clar out and hide, and I'll keep dem safe kivered up in de high tower, under de shadow and de wing of dere mudder's God, and I'll pray for you to come dere too.'

'So he flewed off, wid Jim and Tom to p'otect him, and I took de little misses into my bussum, and plant 'em dar like two pots o' posies.. I was achin' arter my lib'ty well as dem dat flewed; but I stud by de