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THE GUILDHALL, HIGH WYCOMBE.

HIGH WYCOMBE is a market town, and a parliamentary and municipal borough, in the county of Buckinghamshire, and has for many years stood at the head of a circuit in the Primitive Methodist Connexion. It is on the road from London to Oxford, being about twenty-nine miles from the former and twenty-five miles from the latter. It is situated in a valley, through which runs the river Wye. The present population of the parish is upwards of 4,000 souls, and of the borough 4,222. Its present members of parliament are J. R. Mills, Esq., and the Hon. Charles Robert Carrington. Chair-making is the principal trade carried on in the town, and we have read that chairs are made here at the rate of one every minute, and a chair may be purchased from eighteen pence to twenty guineas. Paper making, too, is carried on to a considerable extent in the vicinity. Recently a considerable number of new houses have been built, and new streets have been formed in that part of the town which is called, "NEWLAND." At present there are in the town, one church of England, three Baptist chapels, two Congregational chapels, one Wesleyan chapel, one Primitive Methodist chapel, one Free Methodist chapel, one Friends' Meeting house, one royal Grammar school, and one National school; besides other institutions, such as a literary institute, a scientific and mechanics' institute, a temperance reading room, &c. The guildhall, as shown in the engraving, is in the centre of the town, fronting High-street, and is a large brick structure, supported on arches with stone circular piles. From the centre of the roof rises an octagonal cupola, in which is a bell. The hall or large room is used for various puplic purposes, such as town's business, temperance meetings, bazaars, tea meetings, and occasionally for preaching services.

May the religious influences by which this town in the valley is surrounded, be felt more and more, until every inhabitant shall be constrained to say,

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Lord, I come to thee for rest,

Take possession of my breast;

There thy blood-bought right maintain,

And without a rival reign."

WILLIAM BIRKS.

DOROTHY, THE DEFORMED GIRL.

In a lovely valley, near one of England's large maufacturing towns, there once stood a pretty cottage embowered among trees. Jessamine and woodbines were carefully trained round the porch of the door; the flower garden in front was laid out with peculiar taste and care; in the Summer time mignionette, verbinas, and other odoriferous flowers filled the air with their perfumes. The winged songsters built their nests in the early spring time amid the luxuriant foliage of the trees surrounding this rural dwelling, and made the valley echo with their melodious songs. It was indeed a lovely place, where one would fain linger, and be for a time shut out from the noise and turmoil of a busy world. In the sequestered cottage once dwelt a respectable, pious couple, named Moran. For five years after their marriage they occupied their dwelling alone, but one bright May morning the helpless cry of an infant was heard in their abode, and it was soon known that a young immortal was intrusted to their keeping. They received their child as a boon from the Almighty, and named her Dorothy, which is a Greek word signifying "the gift of God." How mysterious are the ways of providence to our darkened minds; but this we know that our Heavenly Father in his dealings with his children is too wise to err, and too good to be unkind. What now seems to us inexplicable will at the day of final account be made perfectly plain; then we shall see what now by faith we know, that he leads his children by the right way to a city of habitation, and that not one briar ever beset their path but was really necessary for

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their eternal happiness. Soon after little Dorothy had begun to lisp her father's name, he was suddenly called away by death. He left his home one bright Summer's day in the bloom and vigour of manhood, but the evening found him numbered with the dead. While working at a lofty building, the scaffolding gave way and precipitated him to the ground; when taken up life was quite extinct. Words fail to describe the heart-felt sorrow the doleful tidings imparted to his bereaved partner. She pressed her child to her heart in passionate grief, and wildly uttered the cry, "Lord, strengthen me! Lord, help me!" And he who has pledged himself to be the Father of the fatherless and a Friend of the widow, placed underneath her his everlasting arms of love and mercy. In her sad bereavement she could at length discern a Father's hand, and was enabled, with heartfelt earnestness, to breathe the prayer her Saviour taught, Father, not my will but thine be done." And, oh! the unspeakable peace that overflowed her heart! By the eye of faith she could see the glorified spirit of her husband among the blood-washed company in glory, and she renewed her covenant with that God whose love and mercy had prepared a mansion for him there, and she consecrated her child to God also. As soon as her husband's mortal remains were committed to the dust, Mrs. Moran began seriously to consider the best means of providing subsistence for herself and child. Her husband's employment had never been lucrative, but by his great industry and his wife's economy and good management combined, they had become owners of the pretty cottage they inhabited. Being naturally of a strong constitution, the most favourable occupation that presented itself was laundry work; and possessing the pity and respect of most of the influential families in the neighbourhood, she soon had ample employment. But another trial was in store for her which she had long dreaded. Dorothy had always been very fragile, and, as years rolled by, symptoms of deformity appeared. All the means medical skill could suggest were tried for her benefit, but all to no

avail.

As she increased in years, her affliction became more and more apparent. When told by her medical attendant that, in all probability, her life would be but brief, her soul was not filled with terror, for she had long given evidence of her desire to walk in wisdom's ways, and now she had the delightful assurance that she belonged to that little flock that love the Saviour. Poor Dorothy seldom complained, but bore her affliction with christian fortitude, although it was very evident from her wan face and wasted form that her life must be fraught with suffering. She was thoroughly averse to a life of idleness, notwithstanding her weakness. "It is really astonishing," said Mrs. Moran, while conversing with a lady one day, "it is really astonishing how much assistance that dear child renders me; she does all the plain sewing of the house, and will never let me have anything to do with preparing the meals when she can possibly walk about; and in the evening she reads to me while I am finishing my work. I really cannot tell what I shall do when the Almighty sees fit to call her; I am every day more and more convinced that her life will be but short. That she is a christian, I have no doubt, and my loss would be her eternal gain." On fine days poor Dorothy would sometimes walk down the village and enjoy the beautiful sunshine. One afternoon, while returning home, two girls belonging to the day school rudely stared at her, and smiled one at the other; "What an ugly girl that is," said the elder of the two; "Yes," said her companion, "if I had such a back I would keep in doors; she really is a perfect fright." Poor Dorothy! their sneers and unkind remarks had shot like arrows into her sensitive spirit; the blood rushed to her face, and it was with difficulty she could impede the progress of the scalding tears. She reached her home and sat down, but her heart was very full. "What

is the matter?" said her mother, seeing her troubled countenance. She could restrain her tears no longer, and leaning her head on her mother's bosom, she sobbed aloud. She soon became more calm and composed, and unburdened her

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