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JESSY ALLAN;

THE LAME GIRL:

A STORY

FOUNDED ON FACTS.

And I

"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand."

VOL. III.

B

John x. 27, 28.

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JESSY ALLAN ;

THE LAME GIRL.

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I OFTEN Wonder what the children who attend Sabbath-Schools think of all the labour and pains which are bestowed upon them? I wonder if they ever ask themselves this question, Why do our Sabbath-School masters come to meet with us so kindly every Sabbath evening ?-However cold, or wet, or bad it is, still they come.-What pleasure can it give them to hear us repeat what they have heard repeated a hundred times before?

-They get nothing by coming but trouble.— We are instructed, but what is their reward?— And those ladies who visit our schools, and sit down amongst us, and seem so pleased when we do well, and so grieved when we are careless and inattentive, and who listen so patiently to our illgot lessons, and reprove us so gently, and encourage us so kindly, why are they so anxious about us?-What good does our improvement do to

them? and why should they be sorry when we are careless, and will not receive instruction ? My dear children, this is the reason,—your Sabbath-masters, and the ladies who teach you, have themselves been taught, that there is but one way of salvation. That way is made known in the Bible, and if you are ignorant of it, however young you may be, you are on the way that leads to everlasting misery. Your teachers therefore pity you, and it is this pity and compassion which leads them to give up their time and attention to you; and the highest reward they desire and pray for is, that you would have pity on your own souls, and listen to that instruction which will lead you into the way of salvation.

I mean, in the following pages, to relate the history of a girl, who made that kind of return to her master, and the ladies who taught her, which they considered an ample and delightful reward for all their trouble.

This girl's name was JESSY ALLAN. She was daughter to a widow woman, who kept a stand for selling vegetables at the back of the Canongate. When Jessy was about eleven or twelve years old, her mother thought it time to have her taught to sew. She had learnt to read tolerably well when she was a year or two younger, but had partly forgot it, as her mother never made her read at home. Indeed, Mrs. Allan

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