What is martyrdom? We sing every Sunday morning in Church the words, "the noble army of martyrs praise Thee;" we bless God every Christmastide for his martyr S. Stephen, and yet I suppose there are many people who regularly attend Church who have no idea of what a martyr is. Now I will tell you. A martyr is a witness! Any man, woman, or child, (for there have been children martyrs,) who bears witness to the truth, and suffers for it, is a martyr. If you or I, reader, bear ridicule; if our friends laugh at us for going to Church, or for staying for Holy Communion, then we are martyrs. The man who lives in an ungodly society, and by his life and example bears witness to the truth of Jesus, and suffers for so doing, he is a martyr. As I write these words I can recall a vast number of martyrs’ names; for the martyrs, like the saints, are of every age and of every Church. Just as every cornfield has its poppies; just as every poor man’s garden has its little plot set apart for flowers, so every Church has its martyrs. I can recall the name of Xavier, the great Indian missionary, dying alone upon the seashore, with the cruel blasts of a Chinese winter freezing his very bones. Or I think of Bishop Patteson, already mentioned in these pages, dying by the clubs of the natives, far off amid the Southern seas. I could tell you the now well-known story of David Livingstone, of his wonderful power over the African mind, of his noble conflict with slavery, and his patient death in his lonely hut at Ulala. But I will tell you one story of martyrdom which happened quite lately, nearer home than any of these, a story of how a boy, scarcely ten years old, gained the martyr’s crown. About a year ago, a boat with seven young boys went out on the coast of Scotland. The boys rowed out from the shore some little way, until suddenly seeing something in the sea, they all rushed together to the side of the boat to look over into the water. The boat was upset, and they all went over into the sea. One boy alone could swim, and, one after another, that boy saved five of his companions; in trying to save the sixth, he himself became exhausted, and sank to rise no more. That night there was joy, the joy of recovery, in five happy homes; and I dare say the parents, in their joy at getting their boys safe back, hardly gave a thought to the brave little swimmer who had given his life for theirs. But I can imagine that his Saviour gave him a warm welcome in Paradise that night, and in return for his bravery, gave him the martyr’s crown. For that child was a martyr! God had given him a brave spirit, and on a sudden He called upon him to shew it, and he bore witness for Christ.