minds with religious feelings, so that the two
children were in the habit of spending all their
time in the fields, picking wild flowers, looking
for mushrooms, and sitting under the wild rose-
bushes "conversing about God and happiness,"
and "so transported with heavenly bliss" (we
use the exact words of one of them in after life),
that whether they existed in the body or out
of the body they could not tell. Their talk,
about God and paradise and the Promised Land,
was interrupted with hunts after dragon-flies,
scrambles for flowers, wondering watchings at
the flashing of the trout in the brooks, and the
plucking of daisies for chains. Now and then
the bark of a fox, or the blaring of a badger,
filled them with an indescribable dread of being
devoured by wild beasts. At last they ran and
ran till they got among the trees and lost the
path, then they sat down together, and kissed
each other and cried; for they would never see
home again, but starve, and pine, and die,
and be covered over with leaves by the robin
redbreasts, like the children in the wood, for
whom they had so often cried their little hearts
out. But the little grave boy soon aroused himself
to comfort his sister, and bid her trust in
God; and just at that moment a large dog
appeared, sent, they had no doubt, by Heaven, and
drove them, without barking, out of the wood
into the real road home. In Mr. Told's own
words (for the grave little boy in after life grew
up into one of the Reverend Mr. Wesley's most
zealous preachers, and became a noble-hearted
visitor at Newgate): "When we looked round us
to behold the dog, he was not to be seen. Being
heedless, and unapprehensive of any further
danger, we wandered again into the woods,
and were a second time bewildered, and in
greater perplexity than before; when on a sudden,
looking around us, we beheld the same dog
making towards us, till he came directly up to
us; and we being much terrified ran from him,
till we got a second time into our knowledge;
nor did the dog leave us till we were driven by
him where we could not possibly run into any
more labyrinths. I then turned about to look
for the dog, but saw no more of him, although
we were upon an open common. This was the
Lord's doing, and it was marvellous in our
eyes."

In the year 1719, when seven years old,
little Silas Told, who never forgot those
first impressions, was put into Mr. Colson's
Hospital, on St. Augustine's Back, near the
Quay, Bristol. This school for one hundred
boys had cost eleven thousand pounds building.
Its founder was one of those fine old merchants
of Queen Anne's time, who gave away
money with a divine liberality, and devoted
his life to generous and noble works of goodness.
Mr. Told, who, when a boy, was present
at the public funeral of this great philanthropist,
has left an interesting sketch of his history.
He was the son of Edward Colson, a journeyman
soap-boiler, whose wages did not exceed
ten shillings per week, and had ten children
then living, of whom Edward was the eldest.
When he had arrived to an age fit to be
put out an apprentice, his father bound him to
a Virginia captain. He behaved so well as
cabin-boy, that, before his ship departed from
America for England, he had acquired, by
presents from passengers, the sum of fifty
pounds; and, being of an exceeding liberal
disposition, on his arrival at Bristol he dispensed
every farthing to the prisoners at Newgate, and
shortly after sailed again to Virginia. On his
second return, he disposed of a sum twice as
large after the same manner. He gradually
grew in wealth till he became an East India
merchant (before the Company started). Forty
sail of stately ships obeyed his bidding, and
wealth flowed in upon him from every quarter
of the globe. His charities were kingly. Mr.
Told relates two remarkable anecdotes of Mr.
Colson's benevolence, and his dread of its being
in any way thwarted.

"One of his ships, trading to the East Indies,
had been missing for upwards of three years,
and was included in the number of those that
were destroyed at sea; but at length she arrived,
richly laden. His principal clerk brought him
the report of her arrival, and of the riches on
board; to which he gave answer, that as she
was totally given up for lost, he would by no
means claim any right to her; therefore ordered
the ship and her merchandises to be sold, and
the produce thereof to be applied towards the
relief of the needy, which directions were immediately
carried into execution.

"Another singular instance of his tender
consciousness for charity was: at the age of forty,
when he entertained some thoughts of changing
his condition, he paid his addresses to a lady;
but being very timorous lest he should be hindered
in his pious and charitable designs, he
was determined to make a Christian trial of her
temper and disposition, and therefore one morning
filled his pockets full of gold and silver, in
order that if any object presented itself in the
course of their tour over London-bridge, he
might satisfy his intentions. While they were
walking near St. Agnes church, a woman in
extreme misery, with twins in her lap, sat
begging; and as he and his intended lady
were arm in arm, he beheld the wretched
object, put his hand in his pocket, and took out
a handful of gold and silver, casting it into
the poor woman's lap. The lady, being greatly
alarmed at such profuse generosity, coloured
prodigiously; so that when they were gone a
little further towards the bridge foot, she turned
to him and said, 'Sir! do you know what you
did a few minutes ago?' 'Madam,' replied
Mr. Colson, 'I never let my right hand know
what my left hand doth.' He then took his
leave of her, and for this reason never married
to the day of his death, although he lived to
the age of eighty-three. In the year 1721 he
died at Mortlake."

The month of July, 1725, was the end of
Master Silas Told's golden age of childhood.
The cold daybreak began; the frosty outer
world came upon him as suddenly as it does on