Twilight And Dawn | Page 2

young children. She therefore began at the beginning, intending the early chapters to be read aloud, with additions and omissions, as the young listeners were "able to bear." These chapters, therefore, are full of repetitions, of which the young mind does not weary, but which are necessary as long as it can only receive "here a little and there a little," without overstrain.
The later chapters will be found more suited to children of larger growth, who will be able to enjoy reading for themselves, without needing the "line upon line and precept upon precept," apart from which it is vain to attempt to teach the little ones.
How imperfectly the work is done will be manifest to those who know anything of the subjects, which are touched upon rather than explained. The difficulty of deciding how much to tell, and how much to leave untold, has sometimes made the writer's task seem an almost impossible one; but she has taken courage to go on by remembering a wise saying--that if we shrink from attempting any little work which comes in our way from the fear of making mistakes, it is easy to make the great mistake of doing nothing at all.
If what has been a labour of love to the writer should be of some interest and profit to readers, young or old, that labour will be amply repaid.
The book is now sent forth again, with prayer that He who said, "Suffer the children to come unto Me," and who "took them up in His arms, put His hands on them, and blessed them," may be pleased to use it in His service and for His glory.
EVESHAM.

TWILIGHT AND DAWN.
GOD'S BOOK.
"_As the cold of snow in the time of harvest, so is a faithful messenger to them that send him: for he refresheth the soul of his masters._"--PROVERBS xxv. 13.
"_The words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times._"--PSALM xii. 6.
I wonder whether you are as fond of asking questions as I was long ago--so fond that I did not mind asking them when I well knew I could get no answers, because I spoke to things, not to people who could speak to me again?
Still, if any mere thing could be supposed capable of answering for itself, I think a book might; and so perhaps as you take this book of mine into your hand, and run away to some quiet place to have a look at it, you may be taking it into your confidence, and asking it some such questions as these:
(_a_) What are you all about? Are you a lesson-book?
(_b_) Have you any stories--real stories, not made-up ones?
(_c_) Any pictures?
(_d_) I wonder whether I shall like you? Does the person who made you like children, and know the sort of things they care for?
Now before you put any more questions to my book, I will answer for it; and that we may not miss any, we will call them questions (_a_), (_b_), (_c_), (_d_), and answer one at a time.
Your first question (_a_)--the first part of it at least--is what grown people as well as children have a right to ask of a book; and it would be a poor thing for the book to answer, "Oh, I am about nothing in particular! I can't quite tell you why I was written." But most books are about something in particular, and what that is you can best find out by reading them right through; for many people miss their way in a book by beginning at the end and travelling backwards, or beginning about the middle, and not knowing whether to go backwards or forwards. So you see I want you to find out for yourself the answer to question (_a_), only I will just say that the book is mostly about your own dwelling-place. I do not mean your body, though that is, in one sense, your dwelling-place; neither do I mean your own home, nor even that part of England where you were born. By your own dwelling-place I mean this wonderful world which you see all around you, where God has made so much for you to see and enjoy; and learn about too, that you may use and enjoy it better.
[Illustration: GOOD-BYE TO THE SWALLOWS]
So you will find in this book something about the firm ground upon which you trod as soon as you were old enough to run about the fields and pick the daisies. Something too about the blue sky, where the lark sings and the swallows fly; and the great wide sea, where the fishes live; and a little about what the Bible tells us of how all that you see around you came to be; long, long ago, when everything was