Lonely Cottage

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  “Among the few features of agricultural England which retain an appearance but little modified by the lapse of centuries, may be reckoned the high, grassy and furzy downs, coombs, or ewe-leases, as they are indifferently called, that fill a large area of certain counties in the south and south-west. If any mark of human occupation is met with hereon, it usually takes the form of the solitary cottage of some shepherd. Fifty years ago such a lonely cottage stood on such a down, and may possibly be standing there now. In spite of its loneliness, however, the spot, by actual measurement, was not more than five miles from a county-town. Yet that affected it little. Five miles of irregular upland, during the long inimical seasons, with their sleets, snows, rains, and mists, afford withdrawing space enough to isolate a Timon or a Nebuchadnezzar; much less, in fair weather, to please that less repellent tribe, the poets, philosophers, artists, and others who “conceive and meditate of ple...

This has been His Kingdom

The story is told of a boy who lay dying of his wounds in a Civil War hospital. Realizing he was near the end, a Christian nurse asked, “Are you ready to meet your God, my dear boy?”

His eyes opened and a smile grew on the young soldier’s face as he answered, “I am ready, dear lady, for this has been His kingdom.” As he spoke, he placed his hand upon his heart.

“Do you mean,” asked the nurse, “that God rules and reigns in your heart?”

“Yes,” he whispered, then died—his hand still lay over his heart after it ceased to beat.

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