Good News for Young and Old: Volume 9 (1867)

A SERVANT of the Lord Jesus Christ, much used in the Gospel of the grace of God, was preaching in a village in one of the midland counties. The passage he preached from was “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.” The Lord owned the word, and one of the hearers went home rejoicing in Christ Jesus. She turned to the text in her Bible and read it over. The words which follow struck her attention; they are “and thy house.” Receiving the whole passage in the simplicity of faith, she counted on the Lord for her whole “house.” The Lord had said, “Thou shalt be saved and thy house,” and she believed him. She was saved now, but her “house” was not. She did not stay to reason, nor to question; but taking God at his word, she expected the salvation of all who were of her “house.” She prayed for them in the confidence which a full persuasion of the immutability of God’s Word alone can give, and which reasoning only weakens. As soon as opportunity occurred, she went in her simplicity to her aged parents, who lived in a distant village; but when she got there she could not open her mouth. They knew not “wherefore she had come,” but the Lord knew, and if she could not speak she could pray for them. Her sense of her own weakness only served to cast her more entirely on the Lord and the fact that on her first visit she was unable to speak, shows she was not one of those bold, talkative persons, who too often mistake the energy of the flesh for that of the Spirit. “A meek and quiet spirit is in the sight of God of great price.” But she soon repeated her visit to her parents’ home. In that same village she had, beside her aged father and mother, four brothers and two sisters, one of the latter being married and having children. She herself, also, had a husband and children at home. All these, with the exception of herself were unconverted, but what cannot a Divinely implanted faith effect? One after the other, in what order or succession the writer knows not, nor is it of much importance, father and mother, brothers and sisters, the sister’s husband and eldest child, her own husband and eldest daughter, were all brought to Christ. Subsequently her second daughter believed and was saved; and last of all, an aged uncle living in the same village as herself, was “added to the number.” All these are probably still living; witnesses to the power and grace of him who said, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved and thy house.”

Who in the prospect of that most solemn moment, when the trumpet shall sound, and the “assembling shout” shall fall upon our ears, and the archangel’s voice shall summon the sleeping saints from the dust of centuries, — who can hear of such an instance of the power of faith and prayer without earnestly desiring grace to “go and do likewise?”

To be “without natural affection” is one of the marks of the apostasy of the last days; yet how many believers seem to be totally unconcerned about the salvation even of their own children Their excuses are various; “The children are too young to give heed to such things.” “God’s own good time is best.” “Grace does not run in families.” “We cannot give grace to our children.” “The salvation of souls does not depend on us, nor on our prayers, but on God’s eternal purposes,” etc., etc. The answer to all this is very simple; “Secret things belong unto the Lord our God, but those that are revealed belong unto us, and to our children;” and it is revealed, “Bring up your children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” Such parents can hardly respond to the gracious testimony, “Surely, I come quickly,” “Amen. Even so, come Lord Jesus.”

But there are others also, of widely different character, who find it hard so to respond. Such have said to the writer, “I could rejoice in the prospect of the Lord’s coming, but when I think of these I love it makes me tremble for them.” Christian wives who have unconverted husbands, believing husbands who have unbelieving wives, sisters who mourn over ungodly brothers, brothers who grieve over unsaved sisters, sons and daughters who yearn for the salvation of their parents, are among those who find it hard to say “Come Lord Jesus, come quickly.” Should not such remember that HE whom they look for has

“A heart

To feel their smallest woe, And in each sorrow bears a part

That none can bear below!”

Should not his gracious ways, his precious sympathies, his abounding promises to his own, encourage them to repose in full unlimited confidence in HIMSELF, and lead them in the energy of faith and prayer, to count on him for all that are of their “house”?

It is for such that the above narrative is written. One instance is often worth more than any amount of argument or exhortation, to lift the bowed heart, and rouse to energy and hope the faith that has almost failed.

“The same Lord over all,” whom this Christian woman counted on, “is rich unto all that call upon him.” Only let us remember that it is by unhindered communion that faith is maintained in exercise, and that the walk must accord with the verbal testimony. “Whatsoever we ask we receive of him, because we keep his commandments and do those things that are pleasing in his sight.” “If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.”

"And Then?"

IT is told of Filippo Neri, a good and pious man of former days, that whilst at one of the Italian universities, a youth, whom he had known as a boy, accosted him with a face full of delight, to tell him that what he had long been wishing above all things in the world he had at length attained, — that his parents had given him leave to study the law, and that he had come to the university, attracted by its fame as a school of law, and that he meant to spare no pains or labor in mastering his studies, and thoroughly accomplishing himself as a lawyer. In this way he ran on a long time; and when at last he came to a stop, the good man, who had been listening to him with great patience and kindness, said, “Well, and when you have got through your course of studies, what do you mean to do then?”

“Then I shall take my doctor’s degree,” answered the young man.

“And then?” asked Filippo Neri again.

“And then,” continued the youth, “I shall have a number of difficult and knotty cases to manage; shall catch people’s notice by my eloquence, my zeal, my learning, my acuteness, and gain a great reputation.”

“And then?” repeated the good man.

“And then!” replied the youth; “Why, there cannot be a question I shall be promoted to some high office or other; besides, I shall make money and grow rich.”

“And then?” repeated Filippo.

“And then,” pursued the young lawyer, “then I shall live comfortably and honorably, in health and dignity, and shall be able to look forward quietly to old age.”

“And then?” asked the pious man.

“And then,” said the youth, “and then — then I shall die!”

Here Filippo Neri significantly asked, “And then?”

Whereupon the young man made no answer, but cast down his head and went sorrowfully away. This last “And then?” had pierced his soul, and almost in despair he went away. He had met the good Filippo full of dreams of future greatness, full alas of what he would do for himself. It was to be, dear reader, “his eloquence, his zeal, his learning,” that would give him all that his natural heart coveted or desired.

So absorbed was he by what appeared a hopeful and prosperous future, that he had neglected to take any thought for the eternal welfare of his soul. He could even go so far as to say, “And then I shall die;” but oh! when confronted with “AND THEN?” after death. Reader, have you ever thought of the solemn word, “For it is appointed unto men once to die, and after death, the judgment”

Oh never let your thoughts stop short on this side of eternity. Let them not stop at the grave, but cast them forward beyond; and oh, press home to your heart the searching question of Filippo Neri, “And then?” Can you, dear reader, find an answer that gives peace?

Oh! if that solemn question, when asked, finds as yet no hopeful response in your heart, turn over the leaves of your Bible, and you may read the words of the Lord Jesus Christ, “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die” (John 11:25, 26).

Dear reader, “Believest thou this?” If thou believest with all thine heart upon Jesus the Son of God, as the only Saviour, who bled and died for you, the searching question at the head of this paper, instead of troubling you in spirit, will be a source of endless joy; since the word says, “For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God; and the dead in Christ shall rise first; THEN we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air, and so shall we ever be with the Lord.” “And then,” shall we taste the fullness of that wondrous grace which will be the theme of eternal praise.

J. R.

Autumn Leaves.

(For Little Ones.)

THE little reader cannot wander far down any of our green lanes now, without wading through “the sere and yellow leaves” of autumn, which now thickly strew the paths by the hedges, and the roadsides beneath the trees.

A little while ago, those dry, withered leaves were green, and hung in beauty on the boughs, glistening in the sunshine and rustling gently in the summer wind, giving shelter to the little birds and “a shadow from the heat” to many a weary one.

A little while before, they were beautiful buds, just bursting into life, unfolding day by day to the light, and looking so sweetly green and fresh and young that the eye was never tired of gazing on them. Now look at them. Sodden by the rain, or dry and crumbling into fragments when pressed in the hand; trodden under foot unheeded, blown about by the eddying winds, or lying in heaps till they turn to dust and mingle with the earth from which they sprang.

Yes, look on them, dear little reader, and learn a lesson from the “autumn leaves.”

If you are little, then this is your budding-time. Like those leaves in the spring, you are just beginning to open out to the sunshine and the shadows of earthly life, by which I mean the good and the bad that lies all around you here. The sunshine can only come to you from heaven; but the shadows come from earth and earthly things. I need not ask you which you like best. No little girl or boy ever took pleasure in gloom and shadow yet. If but a sunbeam falls on the floor on a gloomy day, a little child will get near it if he can. Therefore I am quite sure that children love sunshine better than shade. But then the sunshine I want to talk about is not the mere light of the noon-day sun, nor the pleasures of this life; but a Light that is brighter, far more blessed, and that shineth forever and ever. Can you guess what I mean?

It is not a Light that you will naturally like. Strange as it may seem, if you were left to yourself you would rather shun than seek it. It is a Light that “cometh from above,” far, far away beyond where the sun is shining. It is “THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD,” and if you will turn to the first chapter of John’s gospel, you will there read about this wondrous light.

Now the tender leaf-buds of last spring opened daily to the sunshine, unfolding more and more to him, from the first moment that their dark coverings yielded to his quickening rays.

This is your budding-time; but have you yet imitated the young leaf-buds? Have you yet yielded to the loving call of Christ, to believe in him and be saved? Have you yet come to Jesus, and got all your sins washed away by his precious blood? If not, do not delay; for, remember, your spring-time will not always last. Do not the leaves that strew your path seem to say so as they rustle under your feet? Where is their spring time now? Ah, it’s gone by forever! They will never shine in the light of the sun again. And if you let your budding-time go by, unblest by the “true Light,” who shall tell what the end may be? You may live on, you may grow up, you may flutter for a little space in the changing lights and shadows of this poor world, and then—what say the “Autumn Leaves?” They fluttered on the bough for a little time, but now they are fallen to the earth, and the wind is driving them into darkness. Oh, it would be too shocking, that you, a bright and happy child now in your budding-time, should grow up to become like those autumn leaves! What! driven to darkness— “outer darkness, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth!” Oh, let it not be so! But perhaps you have unfolded to the Light—perhaps you have come to Christ? Well then, remember how those autumn leaves, when in their budding-time, opened daily more and more to the sun’s bright rays, as they grew on; and do you imitate them in this also? Has Jesus saved you by his precious blood, and can you neglect or fail to think of him? Should not your heart, your understanding, your whole being expand towards him, as the leaf-bud unfolded itself to the sun until its entire surface shined in his light? And if you read about, think of, commune with Jesus—if you look up at him, your risen and glorified. Lord, and walk in the light of his glory, you will be changed into the same image, from glory to glory, even as by the Lord the Spirit; you will

“Shine in his perfections;”

you will gladden the eyes of those Christian friends who love you, as the green leaves of spring-time refreshed the sight of all who looked on them. And when the Lord comes, as he shortly will, and takes you home, a never ending summer

“Of undisclosed delight”

will lie all before you; a summer where nothing withers, and where you will never again heal the sorrowful rustle of

“THE AUTUMN LEAVES.”

A Baby's Death.

For the Little Ones.

A LITTLE while ago I was called upon to attend the burial of a dear baby, who died when only a few days old. Its life was indeed a very short one, but short as it was, the poor thing had tasted what pain and suffering were, when the Lord in his tender mercy took it out of this world of sin and sorrow unto himself. I saw it in its tiny coffin, and it looked so calm and peaceful, that one might have supposed it had only been asleep in its cot; but its spirit had fled, and the cold damp of death was upon its smooth, unruffled forehead.

I dare say that some of my young readers have had a baby brother or sister die; and if not, they have known some little ones who have died very young. Now, why did they die? Perhaps you will say, because they had been sick and ill, or because it was the will of God. Well these would be true answers, and such as might rightly be given. But there is another reason, and a solemn one too, for their having died; and that is, that sin has entered into the world, and “death by sin.” So when we see or hear of an infant dying, like the one I am speaking of, it tells us of sin being in the world, or else there would not be death. But by-and-by, when God shall create “a new heaven and a new earth,” then “there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain” (Rev. 21:4). But now it is not so, as every child well knows.

But why do very young babies die? Surely they have not sinned? Well, though they have not lived long enough to know what sin means, yet they are born in sin, and have sinful hearts. Ah, and how soon they begin to show it, by getting into a passion when they cannot do just as they please. Now, you who are older, know that you have many naughty ways and wicked thoughts, and God’s word tells us that unless you believe in Jesus you cannot be saved, and be with him, if you die.

I have sometimes asked grown up children, Do babies go to Jesus when they die? And they say, Yes. And when I have asked, Why do they go to him? They have generally answered, Because they are little innocent creatures, and have never sinned, But this is not why they go to Jesus. They go to him because he died on the cross to put away sin. So that not even an infant could be with Christ, if Christ had not died and put away the sin in which it was born.

But you, my dear reader, are older than this poor little infant old enough to understand what I now write, and therefore old enough to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. Well, have you done so? If you have read much in Good News you know that Jesus loves little children. Is it kind of you to neglect one who loves you? is it right? Can you be happy while you do so, even in this world? And what if you should die as the baby did? Or what if, which is even more likely, the Lord should come, would you like to meet him? Or would you like to be left behind, while those you love, if they believe in Christ, were taken up to him? O then, delay no longer. Go to him at once. He says, “Come unto me... and I will give you rest.”

CONTRIBUTED.

Benighted.

(For the Little Ones.)

WHEN the cold wintry wind comes stealing through the crevices of doors and windows, sighing along the passages, puffing the smoke down the chimneys, and making things generally uncomfortable, little readers look back with a feeling of regret upon warm summer days, and forward with hope to the spring yet to come. They long once more to see the flowers budding, and the trees putting forth their green leaves; to bask in the warm sunshine, and to breathe the balmy air of the open fields.

But, as this cannot be at the present season, they are obliged to be content with reading about such things, and thus mentally enjoying them when it is impossible to enjoy them in any other way. That they may have this pleasure, the writer is about to tell them of a long walk he once took in the country on a bright spring, or early summer morning, and how it ended.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the hedges were dressed in young spring leaves, and the trees were beginning to look once more as if they really were alive, when the writer set out on a visit to a distant village, in the Lord’s service. In order to reach this place, he had to cross an extensive heath, overgrown in many places with gorse, which, left purposely undisturbed for many years as a cover for game, was in some parts so dense, as to be quite impassable. Then there were hollows half-full of the last winter’s rains; and water-courses not yet quite dry, where torrents had rushed down the slopes into the low-lying, and more level portions of the heath. In these parts, too, there were boggy places, where winter’s snows had lodged and melted, where, no doubt, the wild duck, and the teal, and the snipe, and many a water-loving bird, had dwelt all through the cold and the rain and the wind, as happy and content as my little reader in his warm clothes by the fireside at home. Beside the widespread growth of gorse, and the hollows and half-dried beds of wintry torrents, and the boggy flats below, the ground was everywhere very broken and uneven, and here and there at long distances one passed a pit where, perhaps, gravel had been dug long years before. But in the bright sunshine there was no difficulty in all these things. All that the traveler had to do was to follow a narrow sheep-path, which wound its way along the heath over hill and dell, and in and out among the gorse, now climbing a ridge, now descending a hollow, or skirting a spongy flat, where the spring grass grew the greener for the wet which still saturated the ground. The wild birds were building their nests, or, sitting in the gorse by scores, loudly welcomed the coming summer. The lark, high overhead, sang his matin song, the rooks were winging their way to the ploughed lands in the distance; and, to add to the liveliness of the scene, some two or three pairs of lapwings, supposing that the solitary wayfarer on the heath was come to look for their nests, rose into the air, and began to act as they always do under like circumstances. Has the little reader ever seen one of these birds in the spring? If so, he will understand why they are called lapwings; for, in their anxiety to draw off attention from their nests, they will first circle round and round the person they suspect of a design upon their nests, and then, darting away to a little distance, will drop one wing as if it was broken, and tumble suddenly to the earth. Just skimming the surface, they will rise again, turn a summerset in the air, fall as if shot, and then go flapping their heavy wings awkwardly, as if there was something the matter with them, so as if possible, to persuade the traveler to run after them in the expectation of being able to catch them with his hands. All the time they are acting thus, they keep up a discordant screaming, so that any one unacquainted with their ways would really think they were very badly hurt. Yet such is not the case; there is nothing whatever the matter with them; they are only pretending. Does my little reader ever pretend? You see, even poor foolish birds can play the hypocrite; but then they do not know any better, and therefore we do not blame them. But when children or grown-up people do so, it is very wrong indeed. Again, you see that these lapwings are very suspicious. Hypocrites, big and little, always are. All the trouble that these poor birds took on the occasion just mentioned, in flying to and fro, tumbling about, screaming as if in great pain, darting away to a distance, and then returning and making such a bustle, that the heath for nearly a mile of the way seemed all alive with them, was only because they suspected the intentions of one who had not so much as thought of them, while the disturbance they made was more likely to draw attention to that which they sought to conceal than otherwise. The writer sincerely hopes that his little reader has never imitated these lapwings in trying to conceal something by pretending. Pretense is not only sinful because it is acting untruth, but it is foolish also, as it is sure to be seen through by those who are older and wiser than you are. Far better is it to be honest and straightforward, and, if in fault, to go and confess it at once, than to try to be artful. It is a sad fault in a child, and destroys all confidence. If you have committed one fault, trying to hide it by pretense is but adding two more. It is wrong to hide anything from those that love you and seek your good, and it is vain also; for even if they did not find you out, there is ONE who sees you when you are all alone — sees you even in the dark; One who knows all that you do, and, even all that you think. Now, if ever you should be tempted to hide anything, or to pretend in any way, remember those words of Hagar in the wilderness, “THOU GOD SEEST ME.” Remember, too, that

“Bird of the wilderness,”

the lapwing. It is a large and handsome bird, and no doubt useful in its way, like all the other creatures a good and gracious God has made. And yet it is disliked by many because it is so artful, noisy, and suspicious. But then, as already said, it knows no better. You do. Take care then that you never give cause to anyone who knows you to compare you to a foolish bird. You desire to be beloved by those about you. It would be sad indeed, if they should be compelled to dislike any of your ways, or even in thought should ever have to call you “The little Lapwing.”

But to return to our walk across the heath. There were other things beside the birds to take notice of. The gorse, which grew so abundantly everywhere, had put forth its bright yellow bloom, and, quite clothed the hilltop with a sea of gold and green, spreading far and wide, a beautiful sight to see; rich in promise to the little birds, when, in the hot summer months, each blossom should become a seed-pod, and scatter food to them in endless plenty. It is said that a noted naturalist, on beholding, for the first time in his life, a single gorse-bush in full bloom or an English common, was so delighted, that he went down on his knees, and thanked God for affording him such a beautiful sight! If a solitary gorse-bush could thus affect him, what would he have said to see wave after wave, as it were, of green and gold, rolling over the hilltop and far away into the distance? How you, little reader, would have liked to look upon this sunny scene!

And yet, beautiful as you would have thought it, there are those who look on you with even greater interest; those to whom your spring-time is full of golden promise; those who, as they look upon you now in your childhood, hope to reap a rich harvest of joy when that childhood shall have ripened into youth and manhood. Oh, let them not be disappointed! There is but one way in which you can secure to them unfailingly the harvest their affection craves, and the love and care they have bestowed on your demands. It is this. If you have not done so already, go to Jesus; believe in him who died upon the cross to put away our sins, and rose again, and now sits at God’s right hand, ready to receive you and make you “a new creature” in himself, so that by him (being saved forever and ever), you may bring forth fruit to the glory and praise of God, and the joy and delight of those Christian parents who have doubtless prayed for you ever since you were born. Do this Now, then the New Year will bring a new joy to you and those who love you — a joy never to end, either here or hereafter.

But we have not done with our journey yet. You shall hear more about that, if the Lord will, next month. In the meantime, the writer hopes that, in thinking about the “sea of green and gold” which he saw upon the heath, and the bright promise it held out to the birds who were rejoicing over it, you will think, also, of the rich promise which your childhood gives to those who love you, and whose hearts are waiting for the harvest — WAITING NOW.

Benighted, Chapter 3, Conclusion.

(For the Little Ones.)

THE moon seemed to linger for a few moments on the edge of the horizon, throwing her last rays upon the scene as though she were sorry to leave the traveler alone in utter darkness. But amid the deepening shadows he had already quite lost the narrow path, and was wandering on uncertain of his way. He thought of Paul’s “perils in the wilderness,” and he thought too of those “perilous times” of which the young reader cannot yet understand much, but which have already come, and will increase in peril as that solemn hour grows rapidly nearer, when the light of truth, once at the full, but now so mingled with the “shadows” of men’s minds, shall be taken away altogether, and “darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people.”

Even the little reader may understand that God has told us in his word, that when the Lord comes, the saints who sleep in Jesus will be raised, and those who believe in him now, and are alive at his coming, will be changed and caught up together with the risen ones to meet him in the air (see vol. 8., page 91). That then, when the Church is gone, the light of the truth which yet lingers in the world will be gone too, and that all those who have been pretending (like the lapwing, you know), and call themselves Christians, but are not — all those who have wandered in the shadows, instead of taking the “narrow way that leadeth unto life,” will be left behind; and instead of being taken home to the “Father’s house,” to be forever with the Lord, will be surrounded by gross darkness. Oh, terrible doom! when the light is “gone out,” when

“Snares and death abound”

on every side; when judgments like a pitiless storm are let loose upon those who “received not the love of the truth that they might be saved;” when the prince of darkness, “having great wrath, because he knoweth he hath but a short time,” shall be using all, his power to deceive and afflict. Let the little reader see to it that he is in the narrow way before the light which now shines around his path is gone. He may not be able to understand the nature of the terrible evils that are coming on a Christ-rejecting world, but he can understand this — the time is very near, as near as total darkness was to the traveler when the moonlight, lingering on the very verge of the horizon, threatened every moment to sink in night.

And sink it did at last, and suddenly. The traveler had reached about the middle and widest part of the heath; a dense mist was rising all around him, when, as he hurriedly pursued his way amid the growing gloom, in hope of stumbling at last upon the “narrow path,”he was suddenly arrested by the disappearance of every ray of light. Darkness, like a black pall, had all at once come down upon the entire scene — a darkness so intense that he could not see the faintest outline of his own hand, even when held close to his facer Attempting to walk on, he presently felt (for he could see nothing, not even the earth he trod) that he was going down some declivity. Whether he was descending one of the slopes and hollows that abounded there, or was just then on the shelving side of some deep pit, into which another step might have hurled him, he will never know; but it suddenly occurred to him that it was so, and he stopped and turned to retrace his steps. This, to his surprise, he found very difficult, and it cost him quite a struggle to climb back again to level ground.

He has often thought of it since, because the downward path had been so easy and so natural that he had not at first been even conscious in the darkness that, he was going down at all; nor was it till he tried to return that he found out how far he had descended, and how suddenly the way declined. Ah, little reader, there is a lesson in this for believers, young and old. Neglected counion brings darkness, and “he that walketh in darkness knoweth not whither he goeth, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes.”The downward way begins from the moment that the believer ceases to walk in fellowship with him who bought him with his precious blood; and he who is once on this declining path will find that, while it is most easily taken, and most natural to tread, its downward tendency is as rapid as it is unperceived. Not until awakened to a sense of his condition will he have the most remote idea of the sad rapidity with which he has declined from that walk which alone is “worthy of the vocation wherewith he is called.”

But to return. The traveler was now more bewildered than ever. In struggling up the incline, he had lost the direction he had been pursuing. Moreover, he could not tell how far the declivity extended to the right or left of the spot on which he stood. Which way to turn it was therefore quite impossible to decide.

Now let the young reader recall the description of the heath given at page 4. Could any one be more completely lost than a traveler benighted in such a scene? What a figure of a sinner standing in nature’s darkness, in a benighted world, conscious of his danger, though uncertain of its full extent! seeking safety, yet not knowing which way to turn! the abyss at his very feet, and he, awakened to a knowledge of the fact that he had been unconsciously hurrying down into its gloomy and fathomless depths, yet awakened only to discover that, in his efforts to escape, he knows not whither to go, and that another step may plunge him at once into the very destruction he is struggling to avoid! Yes, little reader, this is the actual state of every unbeliever, whether he is conscious of it or not. His danger is as real when he does not know it, as when he does. Have you yet believed in Jesus, so as to be able to say, “He has put away my sins”? If you have not yet truly come to him, though you may be very content with your condition, and quite unconscious of your danger, you are really in far more peril than the traveler we speak of.

When he was so rapidly going down the steep descent, he knew it not. Another step or two might have carried him too far ever to return, yet he knew it not. Was not his danger as great when he was ignorant of it, as it was afterward? Yes, clearly. Well, dear young reader, it is so with you. And when it suddenly occurred to him that he was perhaps descending a gravel-pit, and he struggled back to level ground, was he out of danger? By no means. For aught he knew, a step in any direction would be bodily injury, perhaps death; while to stand still all night in the damp and darkness of that vast solitude would have destroyed his health permanently. And if you stand stall where you are, your eternal ruin is as certain as it is if you seek to go on in your own strength, and after the dictates of your own heart. Now think of this, for it is most true. Try to picture to yourself the traveler as he stood there in the deep night, blinded by utter darkness, surrounded by perils which he had no means whatever of avoiding; in danger if he stood still — in perhaps even greater danger if he moved on in any direction. If you are an unbeliever, it is a figure of yourself. The word of God declares, “He that believeth not the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him.” How solemn to be under “the wrath of God”! Should the sinner stand still in such a terrible position? Should he go on in such a fearful state? Either must be everlasting death! What, then, should he do? It is written, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.” You cannot deliver yourself from the danger you are in; Christ alone can save you; and it is written again, “Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord SHALL BE SAVED.”

The traveler found this true, even as to his temporal danger. Being one who had long known the Lord, and had learned to trust him, he looked to him for deliverance, and found it. No doubt the little reader is curious to know how the writer was extricated from such a scene of difficulties, but he cannot tell him. All he knows is that, having called upon the Lord, he walked on through the darkness, and finding that sight was not only useless in that impenetrable gloom, but that the effort to see was painful, he closed his eyes, and in this way, being wholly cast upon the Lord, moved on in perfect safety, and with far greater ease and certainty than he had found when trying to keep or discover the narrow path by the waning moon’s pale shadowy light. He neither stumbled into hollows, nor got entangled in the gorse. If pits were in his way, he passed them safely; if water-holes and dells and bogs, he was all unconscious of them. The end of the wild heath was gained at last, and as he descended to the high road by the very path he had in vain tried to find by his own efforts by the fitful light of the waning moon, he learned something more of the practical difference between walking by sight, and not by faith — between self-dependence and simple, entire reliance on the Lord. “TRUST IN THE LORD WITH ALL THINE MART, AND LEAN NOT TO THINE OWN UNDERSTANDING. IN ALL THY WAYS ACKNOWLEDGE HIM, AND HE SHALL DIRECT THY PATHS.”

Born from Above.

A TINY voice amongst the crowd

Cried, “Jesus pity me!”

And with the voice came sobs aloud,

And, turning round to see,

I saw a child of six years old

In mental agony.

But light was breaking; she beheld

Her sinful, wretched state;

She saw, and that with bitterness,

Her wickedness was great;

Nor could she in uncertainty

And danger, longer wait.

Then precious words fell on her ear, —

“Believe in Christ and live.

“Accept the great salvation, now

“God reaches forth to give;

“Look to the Lamb of Calvary,

“And looking, life receive.”

The “night of sorrow” past away,

Light dawned upon her soul;

Her burdened conscience found relief,

The wounded was made whole;

And now, in place of misery,

‘Twas joy unspeakable.

“I can believe, I do believe,”

Was now her song of joy, —

“I can believe, I do believe,

“That Jesus, from on high

“Came down, for me, to Calvary,

“To suffer and to die!”

Her cheeks regained their wonted hue,

Her eyes again were bright;

The child of six years old had passed

From darkness into light,

Was numbered now with those who’ll stand

Before the throne in white.

A. M.

Chapter 2,: Benighted

(For the Little Ones.)

WHEN the traveler again stepped upon the heath, on his homeward journey, the whole scene was changed. Instead of the bright sunlight of an early summer’s day, the waning moonbeams threw shadows on the dark moorland. Instead of the singing of countless birds and the querulous call of the lapwing, the fitful sighing of the night wind was the only sound that fell upon the ear; and when that was still, the silence was like the silence of the grave. The little birds were all asleep in that “sea of green and gold,” which now, in the doubtful moonlight, looked more like rolling mounds of darkness, stretching far away into the dim and shadowy distance. The very hares and rabbits, the partridges and the land-rails, though they feed at night, had forsaken the scene, to find in richer lands the food they needed. Not a living thing was moving; all was one vast solitude. How would the little reader have liked to be alone in such a scene? Some little ones are greatly afraid of being alone, especially at night. But why should they be so? God is everywhere, and those that love God never feel alone. They know they are not alone, for “God is with them.” But perhaps the reader does not love God? Ah, that is the secret of your fear then! You cannot look up, and say, “My Father with me.” But why not? Because you have never yet truly come to Jesus. He is “the Way” to the Father; and if you really wish to have that “rest” of heart which the consciousness of the Father’s love will give you, you must come to Jesus. Therefore he says, “Come unto me... and I will give you rest.”

The writer had been warned by the kind friend he had visited, not to trust the heath that night, but rather to go round by the road. But that was much the longest way, the hour was late, and he did not know that the waning moon would soon set, and leave the heath in total darkness. He was a stranger in those parts, and had never crossed it before that morning, therefore knew not that at that season of the year a strong mist rises at night from the marshy flats, which, together with the naturally dark green of the moorland, renders the ground quite invisible except under a bright light, an effect which only those who have witnessed it can understand. Had he known these things, he would not have felt it right to go that way, because we must “not tempt the Lord our God.”A simple child-like confidence in our heavenly Father is a very blessed thing for those who have it by grace through faith in Christ Jesus but such confidence never leads its happy possessor to rush into dangers on the pretense that God can deliver. Knowing therefore of no other reason for avoiding the heath than its extreme loneliness, and the possible “perils by robbers,” the traveler passed on. To find the narrow footpath was not difficult, for the moon, now near her setting, poured a flood of light upon the dark green turf. The scene was very beautiful. The deep silence, the silver light, the utter lonesomeness, were favorable to communion with him who is the ever-gracious, never-failing Companion of those who, “washed from their sins” in his own blood, seek to “walk in the light as he is in the light.” What a precious sight it is to see a little one in this blessed place! Does the little reader know anything of it yet? If not, it is your own fault, for he who when on earth took little ones up into his arms, laid his hands upon them, and blessed them, is the same gracious Saviour still, and even now is waiting for you to come to him, and calling you by his word. The traveler thought much of him as he hurried on his lonely way amid the lengthening shadows of the gorse. But as the moon neared the edge of the horizon, those shadows grew darker, and son began to impede his way. More than once he mistook a long strip of shade for the path he should have trodden, as believers, young and old, are sometimes led astray by the shadows which their own hearts throw upon their path. Now and then he got partially entangled in the gorse, and had to retrace his steps, or splashed through an unseen pool of water, or Mumbled into a hollow, hidden in the growing darkness. The uncertain light deceived him, and was worse than none at all. For not only did it cause him at times, to walk in shadows, instead of the true path, or make hollows look like level ground, or pools of water like to the turf, with the moonlight lying on it, but it raised imaginary obstacles right in the straight homeward way. Strange and fantastic shapes seemed to stand at times before him, as the gnarled trunk or widespread arms of some old tree took gigantic proportions in the fitful light, and cast its outline on the mist. Falsehood in the guise of truth is more dangerous than total ignorance. The little reader is too young yet to understand the fearful mischief men and. Satan have done by putting “darkness for light, and light for darkness;” but when he is older, he will know more about these things. If, then, he should ever be tempted to take the opinions of men, the fitful fancies of his own heart, the leanings of his own understanding, for God’s own light, let him recall the waning moonlight on the heath, and the many ways in which it hindered and deceived the traveler, turning him often from the narrow way that would have led him home, and detaining him until all light was gone, and gross darkness had settled down upon the entire scene.

Perhaps even now, young as you are, “a deceived heart has turned you aside.” It may be that you are a very good child, obedient to your parents, kind to brothers and sisters, and your little playmates, willing to oblige friends and elders, and attentive to your teachers. All this is surely right. Yet none of these things will save you. Perhaps you are tempted to think they will. Perhaps some have told you that if you are a good boy or a good girl, God will love you, a thing often said, but utterly untrue. These are some of the shadows that hide or turn aside from the “narrow way.” God does love you; “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth IN HIM might not perish, but have everlasting life.” Yet it is only through the blood of Christ that you can be saved. Nothing else will make you nigh to God; nothing else will put away your sins. Let not the uncertain light of mere human teachings turn you from Christ, or keep you wandering hither and thither until it is TOO LATE. Go to Jesus “while you have the light, lest darkness come upon you.”

The conclusion of our journey must be left to a future paper.

The Child Martyr.

DEAR little ones who love the Lord,

And love to serve him, too,

Hear how his name was once confessed

By a little child like you.

‘Twas long ago — when they who loved

The Saviour’s precious name

Were scorned and mocked, and many a saint

Suffered a death of shame.

Before the Roman emperor’s throne,

An aged Christian stood;

He dreaded not the tyrant’s frown,

For he trusted in his God.

So his step was firm, and his look was calm,

And his eye was clear and bright;

And his hands were clasped upon his breast,

In prayer to the God of might.

He prayed the Lord for strength to bear

The suffering to come;

And he stalled as he thought he soon would be

With Christ in his heavenly home.

They told him to deny his Lord,

And serve their gods instead;

But the Christian’s feet were on a rock,

And he meekly raised his head.

And, pointing to the sky, he cried, —

“My God is Lord alone;

He is the king of heaven and earth,

And Christ with him is one.”

Then cruel men, with ruthless hands,

Tortured the faithful saint;

But the soul within was calm and strong,

Though the body grew weak and faint.

And he cried, “There is one only God

What ye call gods are none;

They cannot hear you when ye pray, —

My God is God alone.

“Even a little child would know

‘Tis better to serve one —

One only God of power and might,

Than worship wood and stone.”

“We’ll prove thy words,” the emperor said.

“Let the Christian’s test be tried,”

And his glance fell on a gentle boy,

Who clung to his mother’s side.

“Go, ask you little child,” he said,

“Whose god shall be adored;

Are Rome’s high deities to bow

To this haughty Christian’s Lord?”

The boy was asked; and looking up,

With a smile upon his face,

“Christ Jesus is the Lord,” he said,

“The Lord of love and grace.”

“Who taught thee this?” the emperor cried,

“How darest thou answer so?”

“I love the Lord,” the boy replied,

“And I know he loves me, too.

“My mother told me, long ago,

How the blessed Saviour came

And died to win eternal life

For all who love his name.”

“She taught thee so!” the tyrant cried,

“Then thou and she shall know

That they who scorn our Roman gods

Shall not unpunished go.”

The mother clasped her darling close,

As she whispered in his ear,

“Fear not, my son; still speak the truth;

Thou to the Lord art dear.”

Then from her arms they tore the child;

And, oh! that mother’s woe

As she saw beneath the cruel scourge,

The blood begin to flow.

“What can Christ’s love do for him now?”

His fierce tormentors cried.

“It can help him meekly to endure,”

The mother’s, voice replied.

Then again the blows fell thick and fast,

But the boy still sweetly smiled;

It seemed as if the Lord stood by,

And comforted the child.

And still, when they bade him own their gods,

The steadfast answer came,

“There is one God — Christ’s one with him:

Thrice holy, is his name.”

Then yet again their cruel hands

Tortured the patient child;

And the Christian’s God and the Christian’s faith

They mockingly reviled.

“What can Christ’s love do now?” they asked,

As the boy lay almost dead;

“‘Twill teach him to forgive his foes,”

The faithful mother said.

Again the murderers ply the lash,

But their work is ended now;

For their victim lies with dosed eyes,

And death on his marble brow.

But as the mother clasped her child,

Once more his voice was heard,

With a heavenly ring in its feeble tone,

Like the note of a soaring bird.

“Christ Jesus is the Lord,” he said;

“There is no god beside.

I love him, and he loveth me!”

He ceased — then smiled — and died.

Then tauntingly the emperor said,

“What can Christ’s love do now?”

The mother strove to stay her tears

And calm her troubled brow;

And she pointed upward, as she said,

“The love of Christ Hath given

A glorious crown of victory

For my boy to wear in heaven.

“And, oh! may God to me give grace

To fight the fight of faith;

So shall I run the heavenly race,

And triumph, e’en in death.”

The Child's Prayer and the Teacher's Crown.

1 Thessalonians 2:19.

I TOOK a walk late in July,

One pleasant evening, when the sky

Was cloudless, blue, and fair,

And when a cool, refreshing breeze

Played o’er my head amongst the trees,

And the pure balmy air

Was filled with the sweet warblers’ song,

Whose joyful notes were borne along

Amidst that beauteous scene;

While happy groups were seen to play,

And little infants smiling lay,

Upon the village green.

I paused awhile, and gazed around,

When lo! I heard a gentle sound

In whispered softness steal;

I paused to learn what it could be,

When underneath a spreading tree

I saw an infant kneel,

With face uplifted to the skies,

With hands united, while his sighs

Choked the half-uttered word.

I listened; soon I heard him say,

“Dear Saviour, wash her sins away,

And save my mother, Lord.”

With wonder, love, and sacred joy,

I looked upon the charming boy;

And when he rose to go,

I took his hand and asked him where

He lived. He said, “I live down there,

In that small house below.”

“Where did you learn to pray, toy dear?”

He looked surprised, and a large tear

Stood in his bright blue eye:

“‘Twas at the Sunday-school,” said be,

“I heard that Jesus died for me,

And how he lives on high.”

“And do you love the Lord who died?”

“Oh yes I oh yes! I do,” he cried;

And Jesus Christ loves me.”

Then pushing some fair curls away,

Which on his little forehead lay,

And looking wishfully,

He said, “I wish my mother’s love

Was fixed on him who reigns above:

She’s ill, and soon may die.

All that I can for her I do,

And pray for her and father too,

To the great God on high.”

“And do you think he’ll hear your prayer,

And give your friends his love to share?”

“Oh yes,” the child replied;

“For I have heard my teachers say

He loves to hear young children pray,

And none were e’er denied.”

We talked till I perceived we’d come

Near to his humble cottage home;

Then he his hand withdrew,

And with a smile bade me “good-bye.”

“Good-bye, and may God’s love,” said I,

“Forever dwell with you.”

Twelve months elapsed, when I once more

Passed by that little cottage door:

A man was standing there.

I asked him for the child, whose voice

A few months since made me rejoice;

He said, “He is not here;

His spirit is beyond the skies:

His body in the churchyard lies,

By his dear mother’s side.

From him she learned the way to heaven,

And how her sins might be forgiven;

Then peacefully she died.

“When she was gone it was his rule

To tell me what he heard at school,

And thus I learned to know

The Lord; but soon he too was torn

From me, and I am left to mourn

Their loss while here below.”

He stopped and wiped away his tears,

Then said, “I hope in a few years

To meet again, to praise

The God of truth and grace above,

That our dear child was taught to love

The Lord in early days.”

The Child's Question.

“MAMMA, does praying save the soul?

Can prayer remove my sin?

Can it atone for guilt, and make

Me clean and pure within?”

“No, dearest child, ‘tis not by prayer

That souls from sin are freed;

Prayer never can one sin efface,

Or ‘meet the sinner’s need,

“Remission is by blood alone, [Heb. 9:22]

And only blood can save;

The soul which would sweet pardon know

Must in the blood believe.

“From Calvary’s cross the precious stream

In rich profusion flowed,

And by its cleansing power divine

The soul is brought to God.

“‘Tis sweet to pray; ‘tis sweet to bow

Before the Saviour’s face;

But they alone can thus draw nigh

Who know the Saviour’s grace.

“Dear child, believe in Jesus Christ,

And peace and pardon know;

Then from thy heart, by grace made glad,

Shall prayer and praises flow.”

A. M.

Damon and Pythias.

(Translated from the French.)

Two philosophers of the sect of Pythagoras, Damon and. Pythias, were united by a friendship so firm and constant, that they were willing, if necessary, even to die for each other. Dionysius the Elder, the tyrant of Syracuse, condemned. Damon to death. The unfortunate man humbly entreated the prince to allow him to depart for a few days to visit his broken-hearted family, and to settle his affairs, promising to return by a certain day. Dionysius consented, on condition that some one should remain in his place as surety for his return. His friend Pythias, having been apprised of the conditions, did not wait for Damon to have recourse to him; he offered himself as substitute for his friend, and, having been accepted, he willingly repaired to the public prison, and Damon was immediately set at liberty. Every one (the tyrant especially) waited with impatience for the issue of so uncertain and extraordinary an event. The day fixed for the execution approached, yet Damon did not return. They blamed the folly of so rash a surety, and, pitied his blind tenderness.

In the meanwhile the scaffold was prepared. The people had already assembled in crowds, and they were about to conduct the innocent Pythias to death. Suddenly Damon arrives, and delivers his generous friend. All Syracuse, astonished, cry out loudly for the pardon of the criminal. The tyrant grants it readily, and, touched with a fidelity so extreme, entreats them to receive him as a third into so grand a union.

One hardly knows which to admire most, the devotion of Pythias, or the faithfulness of Damon. Each was willing to be sacrificed for the other to a tyrant’s cruelty. Devoted to his friend, Pythias is a willing surety, and, if needful, is prepared to die for him. Faithful to his promise, at all cost to himself, Damon returns, that he who had stood surety for his life may be saved from a cruel death. The heart even of a tyrant is touched, and he desires to form one in a union so true. But what is all this as compared, with the love of him who

“Did a servant’s form assume,

Beset with sorrows round” —

who entered not merely a prison, but a world of sinners, where, if “the filthy conversation of the wicked vexed the righteous soul” of Lot in Sodom (there for his own sake), every thought, word, and deed of those around him, though free and scathless in the midst of it all, must have been a’ constant and. unceasing source of sorrow to his holy loving heart? Nor was he only willing to die if needful, but came on purpose to give himself a ransom for many laying down, his life, which not all the power of man and. Satan could have taken from him had he not “offered himself,” saying, as they fell to the ground before him, “If ye seek me, let these go their way.” Nor was it for a friend he died.

“Thou for thine enemies wast slain;

What love with thine can vie?”

And such a death! Not all the cruel mockery, not all the torture of the Roman scourge, not all that the rage and malice of men and. Satan could bring upon him, could wring one exclamation from his patient, suffering lips. Deeply as he felt it all, and all the more deeply because he loved men with a love no mere human heart can fathom or understand, all was as nothing compared with that awful moment, when, bearing our sins, he was forsaken of God, whose delight he had been from eternity! Then, and then only, is wrung from his lips that most solemn, all-significant, and most bitter cry, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Alas, why? let those who love his name reply, and, in the presence of such love, ever “stand in awe, and sin not.”

The heart of a tyrant could be touched by the love of Damon and Pythias; yet thousands have heard, and do hear, of the LOVE OF CHRIST, unmoved. A tyrant could desire to form one in a union so grand in his estimation, a union which a moment might dissolve; while to thousands the offer of eternal union in life to Him who is the “chiefest among ten thousand, and the altogether lovely,” falls unheeded on the ear; “the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, the pride of life,” the trifles of time, anything, everything, is preferred before him, nay, death itself is chosen rather than Christ; and the love that would have saved, instead of being the source of eternal joy, must become to those who have rejected it, a cause of intolerable anguish when they recall its wondrous ways, its infinite offers, its gracious pleadings, there in “outer darkness” where hope can never more come to their relief. “Why will you die?”

O blessed Saviour, is thy love

So great, so full, so free?

Fain would we have our thoughts, our hearts,

Our lives, engaged with thee.

No man of greater love can boast

Than for his friend to die;

Thou for thine enemies wast slain!

What love with thine can vie?

The Dead Sea.

Lynch says: “Unstirred by the wind, the lake lay smooth and unruffled. The great evaporation enveloped it in a thin, transparent vapor, its purple tinge contrasting strangely with the extraordinary color of the sea beneath, and, where they blended in the distance, giving it the appearance of smoke from burning sulphur. It seemed a vast caldron of metal, fused but motionless.”

Count de Bertou, who visited the Dead Sea in April, 1835, thus writes: “In attempting to describe the scenes which we had yesterday beheld, I feel the utter inadequacy of words to express my feelings. I had wandered through the Alps, the Pyrenees, and many other mountains. I had seen countries blasted by the curse of the Almighty, the plains of Moab and the land of Ammon, but had hitherto seen nothing to compare with the mountains of Zoarah and Esdrom. Here is desolation on the grandest scale, and beyond what the imagination of man could conceive; it must be seen — to describe it is impossible. In this striking and solemn waste, where nature is alike destitute of vegetation and inhabitants, man appears but an atom; all around is enveloped in the silence of death — not a bird, not even an insect is seen! The regular step of our camels returned a dull sound as if the ground were hollowed beneath their feet; the monotonous chant of the camel driver accompanied at times the step of this inhabitant of the desert, but was suddenly stopped, as if he feared to awaken nature. Three Bedouins went before us to examine the road, for we have to fear meeting with Arabs, who might be enemies to our tribe. The sun concealed itself by thick clouds, and seemed unwilling to shine upon the land cursed by the Almighty. We saw the traces of several wolves. Everything seemed to combine to make the landscape a scene awfully sublime.”

Delays are Dangerous.

THE following narrative is well fitted to impress the lesson of doing today “whatsoever the hand findeth to do.” Duty delayed may not only become duty neglected, but it lay involve an eternal loss.

“Little Willie,” writes a teacher, “is a name which brings before me visions of his blue eyes and golden hair, of his rosy cheeks, where dimples loved to linger, and the ruby lips that so often used to say, ‘Tecer, are I a dood boy today?’

But best of all were the gentle words and winning smiles that made him such a sunbeam in our little school. His heart seemed overflowing with love and sympathy for every one.

“One afternoon I told the class, of which he was a member, how Christ took little children in his arms, and blessed them, and I taught them the verse, ‘Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of heaven,’ That afternoon, after school was dismissed, as I was locking my desk, Willie stole softly back. Climbing upon the desk, he put his arms around my neck, and kissed me, saying, — “I love oo, Tecer.’

“‘What is love, Willie?’ I asked.

“He thought a moment, then replied earnestly — “ ‘It’s what makes us dood to folks.’ After a little pause, he added, ‘Tecer, who is Kwist that best ittle children?’

“Before I could reply, there came a knock at the door. I opened it, and a little girl handed me a note, saying timidly, —

“‘Mrs. H — supposed it had been sent before.’ It contained an urgent invitation for me to spend the afternoon with a friend of mine. I knew that Willie was the child of irreligious parents, and that I ought to encourage this his first seeking after Divine truth; but the tempter whispered, Tomorrow will do as well, and I yielded to the voice. To-morrow! how many broken hopes, how many duties unfulfilled come from too firm a reliance on its deceitful promises.

“But the next day Willie’s place was vacant. I missed the bright face and ringing laugh of my little pet.

“On the first opportunity, some days after, I directed my steps towards his father’s house. On my way I met his sister. Taking my hand, she said hurriedly, —

“‘O teacher, won’t you come right down to our house? Willie is so sick, and he don’t know any of us.’

“In a few moments I stood by the bedside of the little sufferer. He was tossing to and fro in restless pain; and they told me that scarlet fever was drying up the fountains of that young life.

“As I entered the room, he said softly, ‘Who is Kwist that best ittle children?’ Sitting beside him, I told him then the sweet story of the cross. But reason seemed clouded; and yet, when I ceased speaking, he said, with pleading earnestness, —

“‘Pleath tell me who is Kwist that best ittle children?’

“‘Will you pray for us?’ asked the father.

“It was all he could say, for his heart was full. Kneeling there, I prayed that God would spare our darling, if it was his will, and if not, that he would comfort the hearts of his parents in their great sorrow, and make me more faithful to the little ones committed to my charge.

“When we arose, a convulsion came over Willie, and the little form writhed in agony. It was but for a moment; then he lay still, with closed eyes and clasped hands. Silently we watched beside him, till the ticking of the old clock that stood in one corner seemed like a sombre interlude, weaving the moments of suspense together. An hour passed on. Then there was another convulsion. It was longer and harder than the last. At its close he lay-pale and exhausted. Suddenly he opened his eyes, and his lips unclosed. There was a strange agonizing earnestness in his voice, as he pleaded: “Pleath tell me who is Kwist that best ittle children. Oh, pleath tell me who is Kwist that best ittle children.’

“ ‘Pray for him, for him,’ sobbed the father; and I prayed then as I had never done before, that Christ would reveal himself to that dying child.

“God had heard the prayer; for as we watched him, an exultant look glanced across Willie’s face. He lifted his head, and stretched forth his little white hands toward heaven. I shall never forget his last words: —

“ ‘There is Kwist that best ittle children. I coming; I coming.’ And the little hand was buried in the pillows, the beating heart was hushed forever.

“Two days after, when the clouds were weeping rain-tears, we laid him down in his last earthly resting-place. And as the aged pastor told us that Willie had gone to see Jesus Christ who blessed little children, there were eyes unused to tears, and hardened sunburnt faces, that were moistened with something else than the rain-drops that were falling thickly around us.

“Brief was his life, beautiful his death; yet, through God’s blessing, they were the means of leading his parents to fix their hopes for both time and eternity on that dear Saviour who blessed little children.”

Dick the Chimney Sweeper.

MANY years ago, there might have been seen standing at the door of a small chapel in Surrey, a little chimney-sweeper, apparently about nine years of age, watching the children going to the Sunday-school. At that time it was considered rather degrading to send your children to a Sunday-school, so that none but the poorer classes attended. The writer is thankful that he has lived to see the day when the rich as well as the poor avail themselves of this privilege. After some time the boy ventured to put his head inside the door, and began peeping and listening to what was going on. This at last attracted the attention of the teachers, and one of them went to him and inquired what he wanted.

“Please, sir, will you let me come to school?” inquired the little sweep, “I should like to know how to read.”

“But,” replied the teacher, “we cannot have you in those sooty clothes; have you no others?”

“No, sir, but I will ask mother to buy me some, if you will let me come to school; and I will give her all my soot money to help to pay for them.”

“What is your name?” said the teacher, “and where do you live?”

The boy replied that his name was Dick Morton, that his father who had been dead more than a year had been a sweep before him, and had taught him to go up chimneys when he was a very little boy; that he now lived with his mother, and continued to sweep chimneys, sometimes earning five or six shillings per day, and sometimes only one; that he gave his mother all the money, and she let him have the soot for himself, which he sold, and so got generally from a shilling to eighteen-pence a week.

“And what do you do with the money?” asked the teacher.

“I spend it in tops and marbles, apples and gingerbread,” said the poor little sweep; “but I should like to buy books, if I could read them.”

“Well,” replied the teacher, “if you will buy some soap and a comb, and make yourself perfectly clean, you may come next Sunday.”

Accordingly Dick made his appearance on the following Lord’s-day, as soon as the doors were opened for school, dressed in corduroy jacket and trousers, and with tolerably clean hands and face. It was found that he scarcely knew his letters; but such was his desire to learn, that on the second Sunday he knew every one of them, and could put many together. He had no desire for Christ or the gospel of his grace; his whole ambition was to be able to read. He knew there was a God, but had never heard of a Saviour. He was regular in his attendance, and always in good time, and the writer has been told that he would spend an hour every Saturday evening, washing and scrubbing himself, that he might appear like the other boys. When he had been twelve months in the school he could manage to read a chapter in the Bible, and expressed a wish to have a Bible and hymn-book of his own, that he might keep them at home to read to his mother. He said he could pay for it with his soot money, and could give two pence a week to the missionary box as well.

And now, through the grace of God, he began to inquire about the Lord Jesus Christ, and the way of salvation, often saying to his teacher, “Will you pray for me, sir? I don’t know how to, I am so wicked; I never prayed in my life.” All the money he could get, he saved, and gave to his teacher to buy suitable books with, and, by the time he had been about four years in the school, had given evidence that he was indeed a new creature in Christ Jesus. Poor Dick often expressed a wish to do something cleaner for his living than sweeping chimneys, and having heard of a grocer who wanted a boy to clean the shop and carry out parcels, he said if any of the gentlemen would speak for him he thought he could get the place. On application, it was found that as the whole of his time would not be required., three shillings per week was all that would be given, but his mother could not afford to keep him for that sum. On the teacher calling upon her to see what could be done, she stated that he now brought her from twelve to fifteen shillings per week; and as he was a steady, good lad, she thought he had far better stick to his business. His father, she said, had always been a sweep, and had made a good living, and she did not see why Dick should not do as his father had done before him. So poor Dick was obliged to go on sweeping a little longer. At length a gentleman offered to take him into his house, upon the recommendation of the superintendent of the school, to work under the gardener, clean knives, etc. Dick wished to know if he could be spared to attend the Sunday-school, and the gentleman told him if he attended to his duty during the week and rose early in the morning he certainly should do so. Accordingly Dick was installed in his new place of servitude, where we shall leave him for the present, he being then about sixteen years of age and having been in the school nearly seven years.

Soon after this the writer left England, and was away more than twenty-five years. On his return he visited the school where he had been a teacher in his youth. Of course very great changes had taken place in that time, and on the occasion of his visit a middle-aged gentleman, who was one of the teachers, was addressing the children from 2 Kings 5. He first told them who and what Naaman was, and explained what was meant by a leper. Then he spoke of the leprosy of sin, and the depravity of the human heart, and was very particular in pointing to the Lord Jesus as the only way in which the sinner could be saved. He then drew their attention to the little maid who was taken captive, torn from her country and relatives, and made a slave. Here he especially addressed those who were likely to become domestic servants, calling their attention to the kind concern she showed for her master, as also the interest which the other servants took in him. The teacher referred to several passages of Scripture to prove that this is well-pleasing to God, and then spoke of Gehazi, and the sin of lying, prevarication, covetousness, etc., enlarging very much on the judgment of God, and closing with a suitable prayer. He appeared to forget nothing that was desirable both for teachers and children. The writer had not the least idea who he was at the time he was speaking; nor, till he was told, could he possibly recognize him as Dick the chimney-sweeper. Yet such he proved to be.

He had remained in his situation several years, giving full satisfaction to his master, and, from working under the gardener, was led to turn his attention to the study of botany. In course of years he became head gardener, and remained thus till the death of his employer. He then married a pious young woman, who was also a teacher in the Sunday-school, and subsequently opened a seed shop. By strict attention to business and steady industry he prospered greatly, and when the writer again saw him was the owner of a large nursery ground. He had never left the school in all those years and changes, but had proved himself a most useful and active teacher. Several Ragged-schools owed their origin to him; and mindful of poor little Dick, the chimney-sweeper, he ceased not while he lived to take an active part in them. Thus serving the Lord with all readiness of mind, he sought to make some slight return for all his goodness to him, an example in himself of the value of Christian labors among the young. Who shall tell how many children were blessed by God’s grace under his teaching, and by means of the schools he was instrumental in founding?

Sunday-school teachers, “be not weary in well-doing, for in due season ye shall reap if ye faint not.”

Contributed.

"Every Eye Shall See Him."

Even the Little Ones.

(Concluded)

You know what Jesus came into the world for the first time, and how he came; it was as a poor little baby, to grow up into a despised and rejected man, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief, and it was to save sinners by giving up his life for them on the cross, so that every person, old or young, that believed on him might have their sins forgiven, and go to heaven to be with him, and to be happy forever. And before he died, he said to his disciples, who loved him, and were sorry to part with him, “If I go away, I will come again, and receive you unto myself, that where I am ye may be also.” But he has not come yet, and so we are looking out every day for him to come as he promised. And as we are sure he loves us very much, we love him too, and we long to see him, because we love him, and because he is our best and dearest friend. I daresay you know what it is to be longing for a friend whom you love, and who is absent from you. Perhaps sometimes your father or your mother is away for a few hours or a few days, and you do want to see them back. Jesus is our best friend, and as he is still absent we cannot be fully happy until he comes, and we see him, and look on his dear face that once was so “marred more than any man.” We want to see that face, and he knows we do. Ah! that will be better than seeing the queen. I was very glad to see her, and perhaps if I had been her son, or even known her as a friend, and had not seen her for a long time, my heart might have rejoiced, but she had never seen me before, and then she did not speak to me. Of course she did not, but Jesus will, and my “heart will rejoice;” and yours will, too, my dear little ones, if you love Jesus as your Saviour, and obey him as your Lord. If you do not love and believe in Jesus before he comes, you will not be glad to see him. You will think, “I have been a naughty child, and Jesus knows all about it.” As though you had done something wrong while your father or your mother was away, and you knew that when they came home they would find it out, and be obliged to punish you. When they returned, you would tremble and think, “Oh dear, I wish I had not been so naughty, I should like to run up to my mother and kiss her, but I must not. She has not told me that I must not, but I know she will soon find out what I have done, and then she will be displeased with me.” And so I want you to be quite sure that if Jesus should come directly, you would have nothing on your mind that would hinder your being glad to see him. But perhaps you will say you have been naughty many times already, and so you can never be prepared to see Jesus; and it is quite true that every day since you can remember, you have said, or done, or thought, something that was sinful, and we all have sinned — the Bible says so, and it must be true, even if we had never found it out for ourselves. But that blessed book tells us something else too, and that is, that the blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleanseth from all sin. Your mother might tell you that she could not nurse a child with a dirty face; but you would not run about and cry, and say, “My face is dirty, and so mamma will never nurse me any more,” but you would go to the water, and get your face washed. And so Jesus, when he comes, will not fetch any one whose sins are not washed away by his blood; but if you will go to him, if you will believe in his blessed name, if you will take him at his word, and trust in him as your own dear Saviour, his blood will wash your sins away, and you will be “clean every whit;” and then you will be ready to see him, and glad to see him whenever he comes. And you must ask him every day to help you to keep yourself clean in your walk and ways. People in this town spent a vast amount of money to make themselves and the town look nice enough for the queen to visit; but Jesus does not want your money but your heart; and if you believe on him with your heart, and love him with your heart, you will find out that you have his heart, that is, you will find he loves you, and has always loved you, and he cares for you, and will be glad to see you, and have you in his home forever.

But I was to tell you something about the way Jesus will come. Did you ever see lightning? I have no doubt you have; a very bright flash of light shoots right across the sky, so suddenly, that it nearly frightens you. Well, when Jesus comes, it will be as suddenly as that, and even more suddenly, for some people know when there is likely to be a thunderstorm, but when Jesus comes into the air, no one in the world will know of it, till it has taken place. All who sleep in Jesus will, at that moment, be raised; all who believe in him, and are living in the earth, will then be changed, and both together will be caught up in the clouds to meet him in the air. But all those who do not love him will be left behind. He will not take them. O no! as they would not have him, he will not have them, and so they will be left in the world to suffer the sad consequences of their wicked dislike to the blessed Jesus. Then, after a short space of time, he will appear with all his saints, and not only a great many persons will see him, but every eye shall see him. These are his own words, and he did himself compare his appearing to the lightning: for he said, “As the lightning cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west, so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.”

And now as to whether people in general will be glad to see him. I have already told you how those who love him will feel about it. They know that for him to come and take them to himself, will put an end forever to all their sorrow and trouble, and at the thought of seeing him they cannot help being glad. But as to those who have not believed on him, and so are not saved, we learn from God’s book that they all will be terribly frightened. You know it says, “all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him.” Those who are left on the earth, when Jesus has taken away his own people, will be so sorry that they did not themselves believe on that blessed Jesus, that they will cry bitterly about it, and wish they could have back again the opportunities of being saved, that they once had, but in wickedness and folly they had neglected. And we read that many who pretend not to be at all afraid of Jesus now, will then be so afraid of him that they will “call to the mountains to fall on them, and to the hills to cover them,” that they may be hidden from his wrath and vengeance. But you know it will be no use, for Jesus has said that every eye shall see him, and what he says always comes true. Yes, dear little ones, and your eyes will see Jesus; you will not have to come to W―to see him, for he will come in the clouds and not in a carriage; and. I trust and pray, that before he comes, you may know for certain that you are his little ones, washed from your sins in his precious blood, and made fit to meet him, and dwell with him forever. Then, and only then, will you be caught up to meet him; then and only then, can you be ready and longing for that fast coming moment when “EVERY EYE SHALL SEE HIM,” EVEN THE LITTLE ONES.

R. T.

"Every Eye Shall See Him:" Even the Little Ones.

OURS is a smoky old town; at least so people say that visit it, and most of the houses do look rather brown, as if they were smoked. But be that as it may, I can assure you it looked very pretty one day last year. It was the last day of November, and a beautiful day; one could hardly believe it was November, the sun was so bright and the sky so clear. Almost every one, except perhaps the bell-ringers in the old church steeple, had holiday that day: that is, they did no work, and so had plenty of time to stroll about and admire the finely decorated streets. I could not, between the leaves of a little book, give you any idea of how many flags and flowers, and wreaths of evergreens adorned the houses of the merrymaking people on that day; and how many of them displayed mottoes, printed or painted very large, telling to all who read them their delight at the thought of our beloved Queen Victoria paying a visit to our town. For that was the cause of all this preparation, the queen herself was coming, and we were all very anxious to see her, and anxious too that she should know how very glad we were to have her in our midst, though but for a day. And she was pleased too, for she said so to our mayor before she left; and a day or two after she told her secretary to write to him, and tell him again; and he had the letter printed and put in the shop windows, and we were so delighted to know that our dear queen was pleased with what had been done to gratify her. And after she had left us, and the evening was come, and the daylight all gone, the town was lighted up with gas in a great many different and beautiful ways, making it almost as light as day; and in a large field just out of the town there were fireworks for the children. But the daytime was the best, the smoke had not had time to fade the paper flowers, or make the evergreen wreaths look anything different from their own beautiful color, and it was pretty: in some parts it was almost like being in a bower.

Then when the queen came, it was nice to see such a lot of horses and finely dressed men on them, riding before her carriage, and then to see Queen Victoria herself, with two of her daughters, and Prince Christian, her son-in-law! You would have liked to have been here, and clap your little hands as she went slowly by. “I wish I had been sure that I could secure a place where I might have seen her majesty; I would certainly have come over to W― on that day,” said a friend to me at Christmas. And I found that almost everybody who lived at all near had either seen her or wanted very much to have done so, and was sadly disappointed that they could not; and I suppose it was natural enough for them to want to see the great and good lady, for I was anxious to see her myself, and I did see her, and I waved my hat to her, and. I thought, How much I should like to shake hands with you, you dear queen, and perhaps I shall someday, when Jesus has come and changed your body and mine, and made us both like himself, and taken us both to heaven. There won’t be soldiers and policemen then to keep me from getting near to you, but the rich and the poor saints will all love each other, and be glad to speak to one another. But you are queen now, and I am only a poor subject, and as God has told, me in his holy book, to honor the king, I have, no doubt he meant me to honor and obey you, when the king died and you sat on the throne instead.

Now I wonder, my dear little friends, whether people would bear anxious to see Jesus, the Saviour, the Son of God, if he were to come and ride in a carriage through the streets of W―? Or, to come a little nearer to the point I want to talk to you about, should you be glad to see Jesus? It is right to love and respect and honor the queen; but Jesus is a king indeed; in the Bible he is called “King of kings,” because he is greater than all the kings that ever lived, and even they, however great they are or have been, are but his subjects, and some day they will all have to confess that he is Lord; for the Father of Jesus has said that every one in heaven and earth, and even in hell, shall bow down to Jesus and own that he is Lord of all. If any king or queen could get ever so many countries for his or her own, or even the whole world, they would not be so great as Jesus; for his kingdom extends over heaven and earth. Even the angels are subject to him, and by-and-by everything is to be made subject to his rule and authority.

But many wanted to see our beloved queen, not so much because of her greatness, as her goodness: she is such a kind, good queen, so different from many queens who have lived before her, in this and other countries. But, however good she is, and if she were the best lady, and the kindest mamma in all the world, there is one Person of whom you have often heard, and perhaps read, who is even more full of goodness and love and kindness: one who loves you even more than your own dear mother and father, although they love you so very, very much. I speak of Jesus: you have heard about how very much he loved poor sinners; how he was content to be a very poor man himself, without a place to rest his dear head, in order that he might do good to those who needed his kindness, and who would be lost forever and ever if he did not die instead of them; and how he did die, and such a cruel, painful death. You have heard of it all, and it was as much for you, your own little self, as for anyone else. Oh, think of that! Jesus loved you and me, and gave himself, his life even, and all that he had, for you and for me, and shall we not want to see Jesus? The queen had never done anything for me myself, but I was glad to see her, for she has been kind to many other persons, but Jesus has been very, very kind to me as long as I have been in the world, and so he has to you. Every comfort and pleasure you have ever enjoyed has come from him: but for him you would have been miserable all your young days, without a home, or any kind friends to love you or take care of you. Your life, and all the pleasant things of your life, and every hope you have or ever will have about your eternal happiness, you owe to Jesus, and it would be a shame not to care to see him. But I think almost every one of you will say, “Oh yes! I am sure I should like to see Jesus; I have heard about him ever since my mamma used to rock me in my cradle, and sing about Jesus. And before I could read in God’s book about Jesus, she used to tell me that when he was on earth he was very fond of little boys and girls, and took them up in his kind arms and blessed them. I should like to see Jesus.” Well now, I want to tell you that someday you will see him, perhaps very soon. And I want you to be quite sure, that if Jesus did come so very soon you would be ready and really glad to see him. Because it would be so sad to find out that you have been mistaken about your readiness to meet him: to find that, instead of being very glad to see him as you expected, you were terrified and afraid of him, and wanted to hide your little head under your mamma’s apron, so that you might not see Jesus, and he might not see you. And so I must tell you some of the things that are in the Bible about the coming of Jesus; about how he will come, and what he will come for, and whether people in general will be glad to see him.

(To be continued.)

The Examination Day and the Prize Won.

(For the Lord’s Little Ones.)

WHEN the writer was a boy, and his education was nearly finished, his master informed him and his schoolfellows that the lady to whose benevolence the school owed its rise and continuance had determined to have a public examination, and that three prizes would be given to those who had made the most proficiency in their studies. Anxious to acquit themselves in a creditable manner, the boys soon began to prepare for the occasion; and as their master was equally anxious that they should be a credit to him, he spared no pains in explaining to them the things that were hard to understand and difficult to comprehend. And as the time for preparation was short, and fearing that the books and catechisms through which they had already been had slipped their memories, he wished the boys to devote a part of their play-hour at dinner-time to looking over them, that they might be perfect therein.

For a few days, most of them carried out his wish; but as there was no positive command about the matter, those who liked play better than study became tired of the confinement, and returned to the pursuit of their favorite games; others, who thought it a waste of time to go through the same books again, shortly followed their example; and, ere long, the writer was often the only one who cared to do as all had been desired.

The master sometimes wrote in the schoolroom after dinner, and finding him thus alone on one occasion, he encouraged him to persevere, saying it would give him great pleasure to see him secure a prize, and that he should be disappointed in him if he did not carry off the head one. Thus encouraged, he went on from day to day, and though he had to bear much from his schoolfellows, some of whom laughed at, while others annoyed him, he allowed neither their laughter nor their insults to divert him from his purpose.

The day of examination at length arrived, and many parents and friends, as well as a considerable number of ladies and gentlemen who had been specially invited for the occasion, assembled to witness it. It had been arranged that the boys should be examined in classes, standing, and that those who could not answer the questions put to them should sit down immediately. The lady’s chaplain was the examiner, and so severely did he question the scholars, that not a few broke down at the outset; others soon did the same, and, in a short time, all but three had taken their seats. The questioning and cross-questioning then became more severe and puzzling, and many were the commendations which their quick replies elicited; but, eventually, two out of the three rivals were silenced, and the writer was standing alone. After the lapse of a few moments, he was called up to receive the chief prize. It was a large Bible, and as the chaplain presented it, he said, “I have much pleasure in awarding you this sacred volume, and I wish it may be the means of making you wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus,” — a wish which, through grace, has long since been realized. The prize was received with a blushing, yet animated countenance. The patroness of the school kindly patted the winner on the head, and hoped his reward would stimulate him to increased diligence; several of her visitors congratulated him on his success; the smile that played on the features of the master showed that he was satisfied; and as the writer returned to his place, his heart glowed with joy, and his happiness was complete. After the distribution of the remaining prizes, and a short address, the boys were dismissed, to spend the rest of the day as a general holiday.

Now, dear young Christian readers, while you know, from the word of God, that salvation is wholly of grace, and that “the blood of the Lamb” will be your only title to heaven, you may-not so clearly understand that so far as the rewards of grace are concerned, there is a close connection between the character of your sowing here, and your reaping hereafter. Nevertheless it is so: and the writer presses upon you the serious fact that as he and his schoolfellows were examined that it might be known what sort of scholars they were, etc., so there is a day coming when “we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.” Should not this solemn truth speak loudly to any Christian readers who are not what they once were? There was a time when you bowed at once to the plain teaching of the word of God; but, alas! is it so now? Like “the Church of Ephesus,” have you left your “first love,” and ceased to “press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus?” Do you now smile at what some call the fanaticism of those whose self-denying walk and ways condemn your own self-indulgent course? Oh, if it be thus with you, what a change for the worse has taken place; and should you still continue to decline, who can calculate either your present or future loss? The joy of salvation unknown, and fellowship “with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ,” not realized, sorrow and self-reproach for having preferred the ease of the flesh, to the will of God will be your portion here; and when Christ comes, like many of my schoolfellows who blushed before the examiner, what can you expect but to be “ashamed before him,” and to suffer loss with those whose works are burned up?

But to you, young Christian friends, who still desire earnestly to please God, the writer would say, Suffer neither the sarcasms nor the opposition of any to hinder you from following the Lord fully, but continue to cleave to him with full purpose of heart. Notwithstanding all your weakness, it is possible for you to “walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing,” and to “stand perfect and complete in all the will of God.” Should the Lord tarry, and your lives be lengthened, you will have many opportunities of glorifying “God in your body, and in your spirit,” which others, converted later in life, can scarcely hope for; and if you make Christ, and not your service, your only object, and, as constrained by his love, live to and for him alone, you will in the power of the Spirit “bring forth fruit unto God,” realize his presence, and have the smile of his approval here; and, if you continue faithful, be rewarded in the day of his appearing. Yes; Christ will recompense the very works which his own grace gave you the power to accomplish; and the brighter the crowns then received from his once pierced hand, the greater will be your delight, and the deeper your joy in casting them at his feet, and owning that to him alone belongs all the praise.

A Few Words for the Little Ones on New Year's Day.

No doubt many of my young friends rejoice that New Year’s Day has come at last, and will not be displeased that one who is very fond of little children should take the opportunity of addressing them at a time so hopeful as the New Year is to most, but especially to the young, for whom the future always has a charm far more cheering than the past.

Not that the past has been all gloom, for I am sure my young friends can remember many things which_ are still pleasant to dwell upon in fact, as memorials of the past, they are perhaps the only things which make it worth remembering. But in the Nev Year we joyfully anticipate pleasures more numerous, and sorrows less frequent, than in the Old Year gone by. Well do I remember how as, a little boy I used to look forward to the New Year with delight, wishing, as all children do, first of all for some nice gifts from my dear friends and relatives, and then to be much happier than during the Old Year. And not only so, but my brothers and. I used to imagine all sorts of things that we would do, and think of many things we hoped to possess when we were old enough.

We also used to make up our minds to be better boys, much better boys than we had been; but although this was quite right in itself, we could not make ourselves really better, you know, because, like all other children, we were altogether evil by nature. And this evil not only dwelt within us, but in many ways came out, showing itself alike in word, action, and corrupt desires.

Is the little reader’s experience at all like that which I have described? Has the past as yet convinced you that all the vain toys and other presents which you may receive, although very pleasing now, will shortly prove very wearisome, to be tossed aside for something newer, wherewith you may again for a time be pleased? Would you not like to possess something which could always satisfy? TO be sure you would! Well, then, in order that you may do so, and thus be eternally happy, you must believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. He it is who died to save sinners, so that you may, if you will, have pardon, and happiness, and heaven. By his blood, and his blood alone, can you be cleansed and fitted for the presence of God. All the resolutions you may form for the New Year, as did my brothers and I, will assuredly be broken. Such is our state by nature, that the word of God declares there is “no good thing” in us. There is therefore nothing to build your good resolutions upon. Nor, if kept, would they be of any avail. They can neither put away your sins, nor give you a new nature. Christ alone can do both; therefore go to him. Do not make a resolution to go at some future time, but go now, now at once, while the New Year is yet but just begun. Christ has wrought out upon the cross a full salvation. There remains nothing whatever to be done; he has paid all the mighty debt. You see this was just what was wanted. You and I could do nothing, but Christ has done all; and God now declares that “whosoever believeth in him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.”

The word “whosoever”is very beautiful, because it shuts none out. God is not willing that any should perish. No matter whether it be all little child, or a very old man or woman, this same blood of the Lord Jesus can cleanse them from all sin, if they believe in him. Surely, then, when the love of God is so manifest in the precious gift of Christ, and when you see that you can be saved in no other way, as I trust you now do, you will be persuaded to escape from the perishing condition in which you now are by nature. In that, case this would be indeed a “New Year” to you; and even were you called away before its close — and who can say you will not? — you would not be afraid to die, because to die would only be to leave this earth for a brighter and better world, where there is no sorrow or sadness, but where eternal joy is the portion of the redeemed.

Oh that this may be the happy portion of all who read these pages! If any of my little readers are led to see their need of Christ, and to take hold on him, then they may truly spend a “Happy New Year,”and, what is far more important, a blissful eternity will be theirs. Doubtless, during the old year which has just glided away, you have heard and read much on these subjects; but if you still continue where the beginning of that year found you, those opportunities are all lost, while you are one year nearer the end, be that when it may; and who can say when, that end may come? Perhaps you can call to mind some young friend, perchance a little brother or sister, who has already passed away from this earthly scene, while you still remain. Oh, then, let me persuade you that the New Year is given you as another opportunity of knowing the Lord, and of entering upon happiness, if you will only believe in him. May he give you grace and power at once to take advantage of it, that so, long ere this year has run its course, you may be found resting in the Lord Jesus Christ, whose blood “cleanseth from all sin.”

Amen. R.

The Fingerpost.

SOME time after the writer had taken up his abode in the place in which he now resides, he was obliged to leave home one winter’s afternoon to see a relative who lived at a village a few miles distant. Part of the way was by a footpath, across an open country, to the town of K―, and the remainder of his journey was by the highway.

As soon as the object of his visit was accomplished, he turned his steps homeward; and though it was dark when he re-entered. K —, he hesitated not to return by the footpath. For some time he had no difficulty in keeping the narrow track; but at length the darkness so increased that the path became invisible, and every attempt to regain it was unsuccessful. Getting no reply to his frequent cry of “Lost,” and supposing that a village he was acquainted with lay not far to his left, he determined to make for it, and, after crossing hedges and ditches as well as he could, came out upon a road which he doubted not would presently take him thither. He soon found, however, that such was not the case: no village was to be seen; and when, after walking a considerable distance, he reached a gate which crossed the road, his worst fears were confirmed, and he knew that he was indeed lost on strange ground altogether. Proceeding a little farther, he came to a place where two ways met, and was thus brought to a dead stand, and to his wits’ end. What was to be done? A fingerpost stood before him, but so great was the darkness that the words thereon were illegible. While vainly trying to decipher them, the heavens became suddenly illumined by a large fire, which at that moment broke out somewhere in the distance, and he read, “To E―, To K― to G―,” All his fears were now removed; for E―was a village he knew well, and once there he would have no further difficulty. Towards E― therefore the way-farer hastened, and by-and-by, to his own joy and the joy of those who were wondering what had become of him, arrived at home.

“He that walketh in darkness knoweth not whither he goeth, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes.” Such was the condition of the traveler in the story you have just read; and if you, dear readers, as travelers from this world to the next, are not in Christ, it is your actual state now. You may indeed be unconscious of it; nay, more, you may be as certain you are on the road to heaven as the wayfarer, when he came upon the strange road, was persuaded that he should soon reach the village he knew. But what if, like him whose back, as it afterward proved, was towards his home instead of his face, you have started in the wrong direction? And such, dear readers, is the case. You went astray from the womb; and should you continue to follow the imaginations of your own hearts, you will find, at the close of your career, that you have made a greater mistake than the writer, and that its consequences are much more fearful. His error caused him a few stumbling’s and scratches, many needless steps, and, for the time being, much alarm; yours, if persisted in, will involve you in eternal ruin! Oh, then, “hear instruction, and be wise, and refuse it not;” but before it is too late, “turn ye, turn ye, from your evil ways, for why will ye die?”

There may be however some dear readers who though

“Long in error’s path benighted,”

are wearied of walking in the moral darkness of their unconverted state, and desirous of being taught “the good and the right way.” What a mercy it is that you need not grope in the dark, nor stumble for want of light, since the word of God, like “the fingerpost,” gives plain and simple directions to guide anxious souls into “the way of peace.” There you may find the record of “the Lamb of God,” who, by the shedding of “his own blood,” Hath rent the veil, and opened “a new and living way” into the presence of the Father, where there “is fullness of joy;” there you may read those sweet and encouraging words which, in thousands of instances, have given rest to weary souls. It was when the Bereans “received the word with all readiness of mind, and searched the Scriptures daily,” that “many of them believed;” and it was to the eunuch reading, though not understanding, “the prophet Esaias,” that “the Spirit sent Philip.” And what was the result? “Philip opened his mouth, and began at the same Scripture, and preached unto him Jesus;” and believing, he was baptized, and “went on his way rejoicing.” Now, beloved readers, would you enjoy the like blessing, and possess the same assurance, look not into your hearts for anything to encourage you; think not that something must be done by you or in you before you can “receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified;” build not upon your exercises and experiences, your convictions and impressions; for, as long as you do so, you will be dark and dreary, doubts and fears will perplex your souls, and you will be strangers to confidence and peace. But pore over the sacred pages of the unchangeable and eternal word of “the living and true God,” till, “the eyes of your understanding being enlightened,” and “the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ” shining in your hearts, you can read your title clear

“To mansions in the skies,”

and enjoy that settled peace which will follow the reception of the truth in the power and by the operation of the Holy Ghost.

You can understand this in the case of the writer after he had read “the fingerpost.” Had he any doubts or fears remaining as to whether he was right or wrong No, not one. And so, dear readers, when the Bible pointing, as it were, with extended arm to Jesus, plainly declares that the work which God gave his Son to do has been accomplished and accepted; that the Holy Ghost has been sent down to bear witness of it; and that “all that believe are justified from all things;” can it be otherwise than that those who make that word the only ground of their confidence, and “believe on him who raised up Jesus our Lord from the dead,” should lose their fears, and become peaceful and happy? On the other hand, how fearful must be the sin, and how dreadful the guilt of making God a liar by not believing the record that he hath given of his Son!

Oh that from this moment your hearts may be opened to receive the truth with simple, childlike faith! Nothing more is needed, nothing less will suffice. You may toil ever so hard, wait ever so long, and try what means you please; but before you can obtain deliverance you must submit yourselves “unto the righteousness of God,” that “which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith.” This is God’s way of receiving sinners, and no soul ever found solid rest or abiding peace in any other. It matters not whether it is through the word read or the word preached, it is “the belief of the truth” which saves the soul; and as soon, dear readers, as you bow to God’s word, and believe it just because HE says it, light, liberty, and joy will break in upon your souls, and naught will remain but for you to journey homewards, and in “a little while” you will reach the rest that remaineth “to the people of God.”

Found Again After Many Days.

(For the Young.)

A BOY or who had been brought up in a Sunday school was persuaded when young to go to sea, by an ungodly relation, who led him to think that such a life was best. Now we know that sailors are very useful men and very necessary, but unhappily they are often very bad in their ways; and for a youth to go from the care of his parents and teachers, to be shut up in a ship with men who have no fear of God before their eyes, who use bad words and laugh at good things, is very bad indeed. Once out at sea in such company, he has no escape from seeing and hearing their wickedness; and if, as is often the case, he is unkindly used, he has no fond mother or father to appeal to, but must bear hard treatment and vile language as best he can. He will often wish that he was home again beneath the care and protection of his parents, but the wish comes too late.

Now the young sailor whose little history we are going to tell you found himself surrounded., with wicked companions, and soon forsook the teaching he had received in the Sunday-school. The truth he had there heard seemed for a time to have been blessed to him, at least, so far as to convince him of his need of a Saviour and of the “beauty of holiness;” but shut up day and night with ungodly men, who hardly ever spoke without an oath and made a mock at sin, these convictions soon passed away, and his own confession is, that for eleven years he sailed on the ocean “in daily rebellion against God.” how shocking for one who had once been “not far from the kingdom of God!” Does the little reader feel his need of Christ? Has he been awakened to a sense of his danger as a sinner? Is he conscious that there is no safety, no hope of salvation but in Jesus? If so, do not turn from these convictions and put off going to Christ to some future time, as is too often done. Go to him at once, and confess him your Saviour and Lord, believing that his precious blood is all-sufficient to put away your sins forever. Many have had bitter cause to regret having waited and waited from day to day only half in earnest about their souls, intending to go to Jesus soon but not now, until at last something or other has come in and turned their hearts quite away, and all concern about Christ and salvation has been blotted out altogether.

This was the case with the young sailor. All the impressions he had received in the Sunday-school passed away, and the knowledge of the truth which still remained with him, only aggravated his sin in the sight of God. During the eleven years which were thus spent in open sin, he sailed to almost every part of Europe and Africa, South America and British North America. In these voyages he was of course exposed to many dangers, indeed the life of a sailor is one of continual risk, and it is wonderful that such men can live on from day to day with “no fear of God before their eyes.” And yet it is not wonderful, because you know “the carnal mind is enmity against God,” and mere dangers, however great, can never change the heart. No. Nothing but the grace of God can make any one a “new creature in Christ Jesus.” Do you know this, little reader? If so, why do you keep on waiting from day to day for something to make you better, instead of going to Christ at once? Well, this sailor did so, although he knew better. Yet God in his mercy spared him. In many a danger from storms and battles (for he was in a ship of war) God preserved him. Many a time did he see other men shot down by his side; some, it may be, were washed overboard in the wild storm; or in climbing the rigging to furl or unfurl the sails, fell and were killed or maimed for life, yet he was still preserved. But all this did not touch his hard heart. Perhaps, at such times, he may have felt, just for the passing moment, some sense of God’s goodness, and if he did, it is not unlikely that he thought it was very good of him to feel so, and that such good feelings made up a little for his bad ways. Ah! that is just one of the tricks that Satan and our own hearts (“deceitful above all things”) play with us, to keep us in darkness and away from Christ. But at last a new and strange danger befell him. Accustomed dangers had ceased to have any effect upon him; he had got used to them, and so God in his great mercy sent him a danger he had never been in before. You shall hear all about it in his own words. It happened long ago, in the days of the old war, when this country was at war with France. The sailor thus tells us about it:

“In May, 1812, we were sailing to the East Indies, from London, being near the equinoctial line, Two ships were in company, with a detachment of soldiers on board of each, and it being a fine day, and our ship and her consort not more than three-fourths of a mile apart, the crews and soldiers of both ships obtained leave from their officers to go a-swimming. I, then a daring sinner, plunged into the water, in company, perhaps, with one hundred more. A man from the other ship, at the same time, with a bottle of rum in his hand, while swimming, challenged any of us to meet him half way between the two vessels. A soldier, who was a better swimmer than I, agreed with me to meet him at the distance of nearly half a mile, when our mate, who was up in the rigging, saw a shark coming astern of our ship, and called to us to make haste on board. Those who were near, got immediately on board, and a boat was lowered down for the rest; but she could not hold all the soldiers, and I, who was furthermost from the ship, was, in consequence, left. By this time, some had thrown overboard a hook, with an eight-pound piece of pork on it, with the intention of decoying the shark from us; but it seemed to take no notice of it, but steered directly for us. By this time my companion, who outswam me, had reached the head of the ship, and taken hold of a rope that hung from thence, but was so exhausted that he could not climb it. While he was trying to climb the rope, I came up to him, and caught him by the leg as he hung about half out of the water. My clenching him caused him to slip down, and being more expert than he, I caught hold of the rope above his hands, and, placing my knees upon his shoulders, made an effort to reach the head of the ship: but at that instant the rope broke, and plunged us both into the water alongside of the shark. I then swam round the stern of the ship, and took hold of another rope, and was soon on deck, and out of danger. Looking down at the soldier, I saw the shark open his mouth to receive his prey. The men on deck called at the same time to the man to kick with his feet. He did so, and struck the shark on his nose; when he directly turned away from the man, who at that instant was caught by a rope with a noose on it, and hauled up into the ship.”

Thus the man was saved. As to the shark, finding that his prey was gone, he took the bait which the sailors had cast to him, and was soon hoisted on deck. His size was enormous, being about sixteen feet in length, while his terrible jaws, when extended, would admit of a bulk nearly as big as a barrel. As the sailor looked on the destructive creature, he shuddered to think of the horrible death he had so nearly suffered; and his reflections were, by God’s grace, made a blessing to his soul.

Early impressions received in the Sunday-school came fresh to his mind. His long course of sin and rebellion against God in the face of those impressions filled him with alarm. Convicted of sin, he fled to Christ for salvation, and that precious blood which God declares “cleanseth from all sin,” met his deep need. A sinner saved by grace. He says, “I consider a Sunday-school, properly conducted, a great blessing to the poor of our land. I am a living witness of its benefits.” The blessing there received, the seed there sown, though it seemed to perish, was not lost. “Found again after many days,” it turned to the glory of God in this sinner’s salvation; and he closes his narrative by exclaiming, “Glory be to ins holy name! He saved me from an untimely death, and I trust I shall praise him for the same in time and to all eternity.” But more than this, God saved him from eternal death; and if, as is not unlikely, the old sailor is now in his grave, his immortal spirit resting in that haven where storms can never come, is a witness to the power of that word, which sown in a Sunday-school, and seemingly lost, was “found again after many days,” and brought the sinner to the feet of Jesus, that he might have everlasting life.

A Fragment.

“IF there be nothing between God’s wrath and the sinner’s guilt, these may be kept apart during a time of long-suffering; but every moment they are mutually drawing nearer. The moment of collision will be— who can tell how — terrific!

“If the blood of Christ be between the sinner’s guilt and God’s wrath, these two may approach it on this side and on that. The blood, meeting on the one side with the wrath, extinguishes it forever; the blood, meeting on the other side with the guilt, washes it away, and makes the soul whiter than snow.”

Fragments.

Deut. 26:14. — “I have not eaten thereof in my mourning, neither have I taken away aught thereof for any unclean use, nor given aught thereof for the dead.”

A custom prevails among the Bedouin Arabs, and especially those around the Hûleh, which illustrates this subject. When one of their number dies, they immediately bring his best ox or buffalo, and slaughter it near to the body of the deceased. They then cook it all for a great feast with burghal, rice, and whatever else good to eat they may possess. The whole tribe and neighbors also assemble for the funeral, and go direct from the grave to this sacrificial feast. The vast piles of provisions quickly disappear, for the Bedouins despatch their dinners with a rapidity that would astound a table d’hote at a Western railway station. However, everyone must partake at least of a morsel. It is a duty to the departed, and must be eaten in behalf of the dead. Even strangers passing along are constrained to come and taste of the feast. My friends of Hasbeiya inform me that this custom is so binding that it must be observed, though it consume every item of property and of provisions the man possessed, and leave the wife and children to starve. It is the feast of the dead. That the Jewish tithe-payer, when pressed even by such a stringent call as this, had left untouched the tenths which were devoted to God, was the very best proof that could be demanded or produced that he had acted honestly in this matter.

Fragments.

The Birds of the East.

Genesis 40:16, 17.

THE shyness of the birds in our country has, doubtless, led many to regard the incident in this vision to be wholly improbable; but the following extract describes scenes which are in fact only a repetition of the Egyptian’s dream. “In India, the generality of animals are much tamer than in these countries. Hawks come up to the very doors, sparrows crowd into the verandahs with their little beaks opened as they pant with heat, and jackdaws will snatch the bread out of the hands of children. The cooks, when carrying victuals on their heads, hold the basket in which the messes are placed with one hand, whilst the other is employed in waving a stick above them to keep away the hawks and jackdaws. On one occasion one of our bobagees forgot his stick, and while proceeding to the barracks, down pounced an enormous hawk and knocked the dinners of some dozen men to the ground.” — The Camp and Barrack-room.

Fruits of Faithfulness.

AN aged minister of the Word, named. John Ryland, of Northampton, was once upon a journey in his Master’s service, when he was overtaken by a violent storm, and compelled to seek shelter at the first inn he came to. Having stabled his horse, he sat down with the family of the innkeeper, in their wide, old-fashioned chimney, where all strove to make him as comfortable as possible, while he waited for the abatement of the storm. But time passed on, the rain continued to fall heavily, and. John Ryland found he must remain for the night. Having supped with the family, and the house being cleared, the host informed his tired guest that his chamber was ready as soon as he chose to retire.

“But,” said his visitor, “you have not had your family together.”

“Had my family together!” echoed the astonished landlord: “I don’t understand you, sir.”

“To read the Scriptures and to pray with them,” replied the guest. “Surely you do not retire to rest without doing so?”

The landlord, who was an unconverted man, to whom family prayer would have been an empty form, of course confessed he had never been accustomed to do anything of the kind.

“Then, sir,” said Mr. R, “I must beg you to order my horse immediately.”

The landlord and family entreated him not to expose himself to the storm which was still unabated, but Mr. R., who was resolved to carry his point that he might set Christ before them, replied that he would rather face the inclement weather at that late hour than sleep under any roof without prayer. They had received him into their family circle, and treated him as a friend. They had passed a pleasant evening together, and the aged servant of Christ having found no convenient opportunity of setting the truth before them, felt that the time had now come for a testimony for his gracious Master. The landlord still remonstrated, expressing great regret that he should offend such an agreeable visitor, but was evidently afraid or ashamed to attempt such an unheard of innovation as family prayer in a public inn. Still Mr. R. remained firm to his purpose, and at last, finding that nothing would avail to turn his guest from his fixed resolve, the landlord said he should have no objection to “call his family together, but should not know what to do when they came.” Mr. R replied that if his host had no objection he would willingly conduct the little service for him, a proposal which the poor man, glad to escape from an insuperable difficulty, thankfully accepted, and accordingly the entire family, servants, ostler, and all, were summoned into the spacious kitchen, and sat down, probably for the first time beneath that old roof, to hear the Scriptures read and expounded. After this, the servant of the Lord knelt down, and with much fervor and solemnity poured forth his supplications on behalf of all present. It was a solemn moment. He felt it was the first, and might probably be the last time that the only “name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved,” would be proclaimed in that house, and he prayed accordingly. Nor did his earnest and touching appeals to the throne of grace remain unheard. When they rose from their knees nearly every face was bathed in tears, and the inquiry, “What must I do to be saved?” was awakened in almost every heart. Much profitable conversation ensued. On the following morning the precious opportunity was renewed, and the Lord owned the faithful testimony of his aged servant. Most, if not all the inmates, of the old inn were converted, and became devout and earnest followers of the Lord Jesus Christ. Family prayer was never again omitted in that house, and, strange as it may appear to some, the innkeeper and his family became the instruments of spreading the Gospel in a neighborhood proverbially dark and destitute of a knowledge of the truth. Thus the fruits of faithfulness abounded to the glory of God, and who shall tell where or when they ceased to spring up, or how many shall rise in that day to bless God for the hour when his servant was detained by a storm at an inn? “Them that honor me I will honor.” Servants of Christ, “be instant in season and out of season,” for that which seems unseasonable to man is often God’s special time for working; and when “he will work who shall let it?”

The Happy Little Boy.

DEAR READER, — I want to tell you about a little boy whom God had made really happy, though not by giving him much down here, for he was only the son of a poor cottager. What was it, then, do you think, made this dear boy so truly happy? Listen to his own earnest words. I had called to see his mother, who was one of God’s dear children, and, while we were talking together, he came in, and I asked if he loved the Lord Jesus? The mother replied, “He tells me he has eternal life, and that he shall never die.” I turned to the little boy, and said, “But how can you say that?” He replied, “Because God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life,” laying great emphasis on whosoever. I then said, “Well, but don’t you know that God is holy; so very holy, that not the least spot of sin can enter into his presence?” He answered. “Yes,” very quietly.

“How, then, can you — a little sinful boy — expect to get to heaven where God is?” After a thoughtful pause, “It says in Scripture that the Lord Jesus was without spot of sin.” I continued, “Oh, yes, I know that; but what has that to do with you? You are full of sin. God said, the soul that sinneth, it shall die;’ and when God says a thing, he always keeps his word.”

Child. “God’s Son died for sinners, and all their sins were put away by the blood of Christ.”

“Do you think your sins were there?” I asked.

Child. “Yes, I know they were.”

“Why, how do you know it?”

“Because I believe God who has given me his Spirit — and I feel so happy here,” laying his hand upon his heart.

“Do you? Why you have a sinful little heart there — does that make you feel happy?”

“Oh no, but God’s Spirit does.”

I could question no more, dear children. I could only lift my heart in praise to the Lord for his great goodness in so early teaching this dear little one the true and only way to be really happy.

E. J. C.

"He Careth for Us."

A REMARKABLE instance of God’s gracious care for his own occurred some years ago. A poor Christian widow, residing in the county of ―, struggled hard to support her fatherless children, of whom she had several. By the Lord’s blessing on her industry and economy she was not only enabled to affect her object, and to keep herself and them above want and free from debt, but had also managed to put by about thirty shillings towards some domestic want in prospect. A wicked neighbor heard of this, and being an abandoned man, devoid of pity for the widow and the fatherless, he resolved, if possible, to possess himself of the poor woman’s hard earnings. Knowing her character, and that she was as compassionate towards others as she was industrious on behalf of her helpless children, he went to her lone cottage door one very wet night shortly after she had retired to rest, and, knocking loudly till he had awakened her, begged piteously in a feigned voice for shelter from the storm, assuring her that he had traveled far, was wet through, and faint for want of food and rest. She objected strongly against admitting a man at that hour of the night into her house, telling him that she feared the reproach which might be thus brought upon her as a Christian widow; but he begged so hard and told so sad a tale, that moved by pity for him, she resolved to grant his request; and though she had but little food in the house, she purposed to make him welcome to what she had, and, re-lighting her fire, to allow him to sit by it till morning. With these kind intentions she hastily dressed and descended to the door. But, alas for the hard heart of the wretched man who stood without, she had no sooner opened to him, than pouncing upon her like a wild beast, he seized her by the throat to stifle her screams, and threatened her with instant death if she did not tell him where she had stored her little savings. Terrified almost to insensibility by the suddenness and brutality of the attack, she directed him to the place. He secured the money and rushed from the house; but as he turned to leave, it suddenly occurred to him that being well known to her as a neighbor she must have recognized him, and in the morning he would, as a matter of course, be pursued and apprehended for the robbery.

One crime almost invariably brings another, and the thought now arose in his wicked heart that he must dispatch her to secure his own safety. With this fearful intention he returned to the house. The door was still open, for the poor woman had swooned, and lay helpless and unconscious just where he had left her. And now he began to consider how he should effect his purpose. He had no knife or other instrument with him, nothing but a piece of cord. In this he made a noose, and passing it round her neck as she lay on the floor, he looked about him for some hook or place on which to suspend his victim. A beam ran across the room where he stood; but the house was very old, and the wood might be rotten. Should it give way beneath the strain he was about to put it to, his poor victim might so far recover consciousness as to struggle for her life; and his coward heart trembled at the thought of the children being awakened by their mother’s cries, and alarming the distant neighbors. What was to be done? Time was hurrying on, a mistake might lead to his detection and punishment. He would test the beam before he trusted all to its strength. Laying down the cruel cord with which he meant to murder her who had opened her door in compassion for his need, he sprang upwards, and clasped his hands over the beam to ascertain whether it would bear his weight. Yes, it bore him well. It neither bent nor creaked beneath the strain as he swung to and fro some feet above the ground. It would do well to hang the kind-hearted woman who had sought to do him good, and he had only to unclasp his cruel hands and descend to do the fearful deed. Ah, but when he tried to unlock his fingers he could not. No. God had fixed him there, and he could not come down.

In vain he tried to tear his hands asunder; in vain he sought some foothold that he might relieve the weight that locked his tangled fingers fast within each other, and would not let them part. How those cruel fingers that had clutched the helpless woman’s throat so savagely ached! how his wrists and elbow joints and shoulders cracked with the fearful tension, as he hung and groaned in anguish! And the night crept on, and every moment made discovery more certain, while judgment seemed to have already overtaken him. Hardened as his heart was, and dark as his understanding must have been, he could not but perceive that God had interfered to save his child from a cruel death, and had proved himself a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. He would not let the murderous man rob those helpless little ones of their fond, loving mother, whose industrious hand, prospered by his goodness, provided for their wants. He would not let him even take away her hard earnings, the blessing he had given to meet her children’s need. The night passed slowly on, the candle burned down, and flickered in the socket, and died out at last. The poor woman recovering from her swoon, yet half unconscious still, crept away in the darkness to her chamber; but her would-be murderer, writhing in anguish of body and horror of mind, was still fixed to the beam by the just judgment of God, not daring to cry out for help, and stifling his own groans lest his presence should be discovered.

The morning dawned at last; and, found there by the police with the stolen money in his possession, and the too evident purpose of his murderous heart manifest to all, he was eventually transported. Whether it ever occurred to him afterwards, that in interfering so providentially to save his child from death, God also saved him, from the commission of a great crime, and that even the remarkable visitation from which he suffered so fearfully on that never-to-be-forgotten night was really a mercy to his own soul, we know not. But to the heart of the Christian widow it must indeed have been precious to see the loving hand of her gracious Lord thus stretched out to protect her from violence and cruelty; and we may well hope that an interposition so remarkable, was blessed to her children also, teaching them to believe and confide in their mother’s Saviour-God, the Lord Jesus Christ, the Friend that sticketh closer than a brother. Blessed be his name!

"He Says He Will;" or, Faith in God.

(For the Little Ones.)

ONE bitterly cold winter, a poor Christian woman who had long been struggling against illness and poverty, was left without a shilling in the world. With many tears, she was obliged to tell her little boy, who was also a believer and her only son, that she could give him no breakfast that morning, for she had not a loaf of bread in the house. She was therefore, very much surprised, when after having been out of the room, he presently returned and began as usual to lay the little white cloth on the table, get out the plates and cups, and put everything in readiness for breakfast.

“Why Frank,” said his mother, “what are you doing that for; did you not hear me say that we have not a bit of bread in the house?”

“Yes, mother, but I have been asking God to send us some, and I know he will hear me, because he says he will,” answered the little boy with a cheerful smile.

Presently, they heard the sound of horses’ feet coming up the road, and going to the door, Frank perceived a gentleman leading a horse slowly along. He stopped at the little wicket gate, and said, “Look here, my boy, my horse has lost two shoes, and. I have still twelve miles to go; take him to the blacksmith’s shop over the way, and when you have brought him back safely, I will reward you for your trouble. Will you allow me to rest in your cottage in the meantime?” he added to the poor widow, who now appeared in the doorway.

“Surely, sir,” she answered with a curtsey, “and welcome too,” and hastened to set a chair for the gentleman.

They soon got into conversation. “I am afraid I am keeping you from your breakfast, my good woman,” he said, seeing that there was nothing on the table but plates and cups, “pray do just as if you were alone.” And he pressed her so much that the poor woman was at length obliged to tell him the real state of affairs. When little Frank came back with the horse, the gentleman mounted quickly, and rode off, having first dropped a five-shilling piece into the boy’s hand. “You shall hear from me again,” he said as he galloped away.

Oh how eagerly Frank ran indoors to show his mother what God had sent him! What was his surprise when with tears of joy the poor widow held up a bank note, exclaiming, “O my child! how could I doubt the Lord for one moment? You were right, you were right, my boy.”

And the happy mother and still happier son knelt down and returned most hearty thanks to their heavenly Father for his goodness to them.

“I knew he would send us something,” said little Frank, “I knew he would, because he says so.”

Oh that we all had this dear boy’s faith in God’s promises. Then, indeed, should we find the truth of David’s words, “The Lord God is a present help in trouble.” E.

The Heavenly Home.

MY DEAR YOUNG-FRIENDS, — I have no doubt most of you know what it is to have lost some one by death, with whom you were acquainted. Perhaps a kind and loving mother or father, or a dear little brother or sister has been called away; and if before they departed they fled to Jesus for refuge, and so were washed in his precious blood, happy indeed are they, for they see him face to face, and sing his praise, who loved them and gave himself for them and all who, through grace, believe on his name. How often do we see houses with the blinds closed, telling us that death is there. Truly this world is not a home of joy, but of death, separation, and sorrow.

But there is a home of joy; yes, blessed thought, a home

“Where Jesus reigns in glory,

A home of peace and joy.”

I need not tell you, my dear young readers, that this home is heaven. And what do you think makes heaven such a happy place? There is no sin there, consequently no sorrow; but even heaven would not be the fullness of joy if Jesus was not there. It is he, the Lamb of God, who is the light of that happy home, his loving smile the sweetest welcome there. Dear children, would you not like to go to this happy place? There is but one way, and that is by the blood of Jesus. The Bible tells us that all are sinners, yes, even little children, and as such we can never enter heaven. But listen, the blessed Saviour left his Father’s throne, and came down and suffered, and died on the cross, that all who believe on him, and trust entirely to him for forgiveness of their sins, should not perish, but have eternal life. He is still waiting to receive you. He is the same Jesus, who, when on earth, took little children in his arms and blessed them. Believe in him; then if you should be called to die, you will have nothing to fear, you will go to that happy home; or if he should come himself in the clouds, to take all those who love him, you will be caught up together with them, to meet the Lord in the air, and be forever with him.

May you be led to search the Scriptures, which are able to make you wise unto salvation, through faith which is in Christ Jesus.

A LOVER OF THE LITTLE ONES.

"I do Believe it!"

AT a small cottage on the outskirts of one of our large manufacturing towns, there resided for many years a very poor family. The father was employed chiefly as an agricultural laborer, but as his scanty income was scarcely sufficient to support him and his family, it was with much difficulty that they struggled on through life. The children were of necessity put to work very young to earn a trifle towards their support, and were therefore deprived of the advantages of early instruction. Years rolled away, and some of the sons grew up to manhood, but through improper training were in many things very ignorant.

Henry, the one of whom I am now going to write, turned out a very wild youth. Having associated with wicked companions he was enticed into evil practices, seeking to satisfy the cravings of his carnal appetite with worldly pleasure, “reveling’s and such-like.” This unseemly course he pursued for a long time, indifferent as to where it might lead him. The time came, however, when he was compelled to make a sudden pause. Having enjoyed “the pleasures of sin for a season,” he was seized with an incurable disease. Hitherto he had regarded the salvation of his soul as a subject too gloomy to occupy one so young in years. “Loving darkness rather than light,” and thus in a measure self-deceived, he had rushed on “in the ways of darkness” until this unlooked-for calamity came upon him. His illness increased, and he saw his end was rapidly approaching. He now began to awake from his long delusive dream to a sense of his danger, as having no hope and without God in the world, and became exceedingly troubled at the thought of dying unsaved. But how he was, to be saved he knew not. Reflection upon his past ungodly life afforded him no relief. The entreaties he had scorned, the admonitions he had despised or neglected — all came flashing through his soul, only to add to the terror he experienced. He now saw the salvation of his soul to be of immediate importance, but he could not save himself, nor did he know where to turn for relief. He looked anxiously around, but there was none to help. His dear friends looked upon him with pity, and were able in some little degree to relieve his bodily sufferings; but they could do nothing to ease the anguish of his diseased soul. Ah no! the seat of that fearful malady none could reach but God. But he had no faith in God; he thought that he was his enemy. What a mistake! What a delusion of Satan! On the contrary, God was only waiting to be gracious to him — waiting to bestow upon him the gift of “eternal life.” It is true that in every dispensation, God has had “no pleasure in the death of the wicked.” Truly God is the sinner’s chiefest friend, for “God is love.” Yes, on every page of his divinely inspired word, the Bible, may be seen the eternal truth that “God is love.” The one precious golden word “love,” in the person of Jesus Christ, stamps forever the character of God. And God commendeth his love to the sinner, as though by us beseeching him to be reconciled to him on the ground of the finished work of his Son Jesus Christ.

But Satan, the great opponent of God and enemy of never-dying souls, had misrepresented God in the heart of this afflicted young man; hence he shrank at the thought of meeting him. He would fain have hid away from God, or have delayed the solemn hour to which he was speedily hastening. But this was impossible; whether prepared or not he knew he must very shortly meet a dying hour. Therefore, like a rushing tide, despair filled and overflowed his soul. He not only saw but felt his own helplessness. He searched again and again, but could not find one particle of goodness or even soundness in his poor self. “From the sole of the foot even unto the head, there was no soundness in” him. Like a drowning man he would fain have grasped at any twig within his reach, rather than own himself a complete wreck, and thus become an object for the super abounding mercy of God, But he had nothing to cling to, and was therefore obliged to sank; and haring done so, God could and did in his own way, in pity, love, and compassion, put forth his gracious hand and rescue him. Oh what lovely grace!

“Ah! grace it is — free grace,

That saves our souls from hell.”

But to pass on. It was while this dying sinner was undergoing these terrific searchings of heart and conscience that the writer received a pressing invitation to visit him without delay. Believing it to be of the Lord, and also an urgent case, he lost no time in doing so. Having reached the cottage, he took his seat beside the young man, whose sad, sad countenance betrayed his state of mind. Under full conviction of sin and groaning beneath its heavy burden, the thought that ere long he must meet a dying hour all unprepared, had plunged him into the deepest despair; “Dear friend,” said the visitor, “you need not despair of salvation. Such as you are the very persons whom Jesus came ‘to seek and to save;’ and surely you desire to be saved?”

“Yes, I do,” he replied earnestly, his eyes fixed on his visitor’s lips as though to catch and drink in every word.

“Then listen, for ‘to you is the word of this salvation sent.’ From the beginning God has loved poor sinners, and in order that he might show out his love in saving them from the terrible condition into which sin has brought them, and in doing so be consistent with himself as a just and holy God, he in due time delivered up his only begotten Son, the holy and the just one, to be the sinner’s substitute — to take the sinner’s place, to die in the sinner’s stead, that any sinner who as a sinner believes and receives ‘the word of this salvation,’ or, in other words, receives Christ as his all, should not perish, but have everlasting life. O anxious sinner! receive Christ now as your only way of salvation. Be saved now, as tomorrow may be too late.” Adding some further remarks, exhorting him to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, the visitor quoted, —

“Why ‘neath the load of your sins do you toil?

Christ giveth rest — giveth rest.

Why be in slavery, to Satan a spoil?

You may be blest — may be blest.

Christ now invites you his rest to receive,

Heavy’s your burden, but he can relieve,

If but this moment in him you believe,

You shall have rest — shall have rest.’”

He had but just concluded, when a change passed over the features of the dying man, a gleam of joy displaced the look of fixed despair, and he exclaimed with a new-born energy, “I DO BELIEVE IT!” “But do you believe on the Son of God?” asked the visitor, “Yes, I do,” he answered. “Then,” returned the visitor, “if you really believe on the Son of God as your Saviour, and rest in his finished work, you are now a saved person, and will surely go to heaven.” Much more conversation passed, but only to confirm the fact of his being indeed born of God. After praying for him, his visitor left the cottage with a heart overflowing with praise to his gracious Lord, for hang once more shown himself “mighty to save.” Ah! the true gospel of Christ is indeed good news to the sin-burdened soul. “It is the power of God unto salvation to everyone that believeth.” (Rom 1:16.) When received by faith, it snaps asunder every fetter, breaks down every barrier, sweeps away every difficulty, bows self to the dust, and launches the soul into perfect and blessed liberty.

Shortly after this, the time came when Henry was to go to his heavenly home. During that night his bodily sufferings were intense, but he murmured not, for the Lord gave him grace to bear on patiently to the end. Before he died, some of his old ungodly acquaintances were admitted into the room, to see the last of him, but he was too far gone to take any notice of them. One of them, however, ignorant of all that had taken place, happened to say, “What will become of him? Would it not be well to send for a minister?” This aroused the dying man. Making a desperate effort, he raised himself up, and looking earnestly on all present, exclaimed with his last breath, “That is all settled. It was all settled long ago,” and his strength then failing him, he suddenly sank back and fell asleep in Jesus.

"I do Rest in Jesus."

A STRIKING case of conversion took place at N― in September last, of a young woman of the age of twenty, which, with her parents’ consent, is noted down for the readers of GOOD NEWS, in the hope that the Lord will use it for the good of souls.

Clara A — had, from her childhood, been carefully brought up, cherished, and over by her beloved parents. She had received a plain education, and had attended a Sunday-school, so that her advantages in these respects were good; but, like thousands of others, she had entirely neglected her never-dying soul, until it became almost too late. About two years ago she was taken ill, and it soon after became but too apparent that consumption had set in. The progress of this insidious disease in her case was slow, and, like many others in similar circumstances, she felt certain at times that she should get better. The subject of salvation did not at first seem to occupy her attention. Occasionally, indeed, she would be seen reading her Bible, but, being of a nervous and reserved disposition, she was backward in opening her mind to others. About the close of last August, her condition became so critical, that she was confined to her bed, and on the Saturday following, viz., September 1, her mind was suddenly aroused to a sense of her danger, on finding that all hopes of her getting better were vain, and that she must soon, very soon, leave this world. The thought of what would become of her soul came upon her with tremendous weight, and awoke the inquiry, “What must I do to be saved?” She looked back on her past life, but saw nothing upon which she could rest her troubled soul with safety, while she looked forward to eternity with a thrill of horror. What a condition! A soul on the ‘border of eternity, and nearing the precipice of that awful place, “where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched” (Mark 9:44), being forced on by every approaching moment, with nothing to cling to nor Test upon.. What an object for the mercy of God! Her conscience was much exercised; she felt the heavy burden of sin; she was “like the troubled sea when it cannot rest.” She could not extricate herself; she knew not where to look for help, and she could only cry again and again, “What must I do?” On Sunday morning it came into her heart to pray to God, Her prayer was as follows: “O Lord, I know not what to do! Wilt thou send one of thy servants to tell me what I must do, and show me the right way?” How simple, but how real! It was the prayer of an anxious, sin-burdened soul. That prayer was heard in heaven and an answer immediately granted, as will be seen. On the same day (viz., Saturday, the 1St of September) on which she was first aroused to a sense of her danger, the writer of this paper overheard two females conversing about a young woman who was dangerously ill, and not expected to live. He inquired the young woman’s address, and made a note of it. On Sunday morning, while in fellowship with some other Christians at the Lord’s table, he was very much reminded of his Lord’s love to him, in not only saving him from eternal death, but also in raising him up in spirit now with himself; that it was not death which separated him from Christ, but that His death had forever separated him from the world unto Himself, and that when He was done with him here on earth, He would take him to His Father’s house above, having already fitted him for His presence. The thought of how he could prove to his Lord that he loved him, arose naturally from a sense of His great love to him. He was then impressed with the desire of at once visiting this afflicted young woman, and could not rest until he had done so. In the afternoon he called at her residence, and was at once shown into the room where she lay; after which, at her request, they were left alone. At this time he knew nothing of what she had previously passed through, but the following conversation took place. He said to her, “Dear friend, how do matters stand between your soul and God?” As she did not answer, he added, “Are you ready for heaven?” “No.” “Do you desire to go to heaven?” “Yes,” she answered, quickly. “What do you require to fit you for that blessed place?” “I don’t know,” she replied. “Do you feel yourself to be a lost sinner?” “Yes, I do.” Seeing that a Bible lay beside her, the writer said, “Find Luke 15, and let us see what God has said,” and, pulling out his own Bible, read gently the parable of the lost piece of silver. Having finished reading, he asked, “Do you understand the meaning?” “No, I do not,” she replied. The visitor then proceeded to comment upon the parable as follows: “That piece of silver is a true picture of your condition as a sinner. Notice, first, that piece of silver was lost; so are you, and, if you are not found and saved shortly, you will be lost forever.” This truth was by no means new to her; her mind had been previously opened to see, and now to acknowledge herself a lost sinner. He proceeded, “Secondly, that piece of silver was not only lost, but lifeless; so are you. As to the new life in. Christ, you are indeed lifeless, ‘dead in trespasses and sins;’ hence all your efforts to merit such a standing, whether past, present, or future, are worthless, and will leave you in the same place — a sinner still.”

Alas, how many stumble here! Their worthless and wretched. DOING hinders them from seeing and resting alone on the finished work of Christ. When the sinner is aroused to a sense of his condition by nature, the highest thought of his heart is to do something to inherit eternal life. Such was the thought of the rich young man of Matt. 19; of the lawyer of Luke 10; of the jailor at Philippi, Acts 16. It has been the thought of thousands. It was the thought of this young woman. But oh, when the anxious sinner sees, and is enabled to grasp, the truth that the work of his salvation was wrought out long, long ago, in the person of Jesus Christ on the cross, what a change takes place! Wrong and hard thoughts of God are then swept away; sorrow is turned into, joy; the tossing of a guilty conscience is calmed by the peace-speaking blood of Jesus, while His blessed person is more than enough for the heart. Moreover, the great enemy is defeated and his suggestions displaced, by the truth of God, and hence the triumphant shout of “Victory! victory!”

But to return. While the dying girl listened with anxious attention, the visitor continued.: “Thirdly, that piece of silver was not only lost and lifeless, but it was valuable; and so are you in God’s gracious eye — so valuable that the Son of God left those mansions above, and came to this sinful world, that he might purchase the sinner for himself, at the tremendous cost of his own life; and lift such out of their lost, lifeless, and wretched condition as sinners, and raise them to brightest, spotless glory.” As these and other similar truths fell upon her ear, her countenance lighted up — yes, like a piece of silver reflecting the candle’s light. The Spirit of God had, undoubtedly, opened the heart of this afflicted one; and when the light of God’s holy word shone in, it could not be hid. But although she was now like a loosened stone in the quarry, she was not yet lifted out; she had not as yet obtained deliverance. But the time for that also was not far off. When he had, at her own request, prayed for her, and was about to take his departure, her visitor said, “I desire to leave with you two verses to ponder over when I am gone,” and, reading Acts 13:38, 39, bade her farewell. He never saw her again alive; but, after she had fallen asleep in Jesus, her dear parents told him that both on the day he left her, and on the day following, she was frequently engaged in reading these verses and in prayer, and that it was while reading Acts 13:38, 39, that she obtained perfect and blessed liberty. Yes, the Lord gave her to see that “by him all who believe are justified from all things.” She cried out to her distressed mother that she was now happy that Jesus was hers, and that she longed to go to him. Her mother said, “My dear child, I shall soon lose you.” She answered, “Mother, don’t cry for me; I cannot cry, for Jesus has dried up all my tears.” Her mother said again, “My child, don’t you fear to die?” “No, mother, I am happy now. On Sunday, I did pray to the Lord to send one of his servants to tell me what I must do, and to show me the right way; and now I am happy; I do believe in Jesus, and am safe. I do not fear to die.” These are the breathings of a new-born soul, not then a day old. In the most blessed assurance and fullest confidence in her Lord’s love, young as she was in the faith, she could say with great firmness, “I do believe in Jesus, and am safe. I do not fear to die.” And again, “Jesus is mine.” On Tuesday she called for her younger brother, warned him against putting off the salvation of his soul, and entreated him to follow her to heaven. On Wednesday morning, about four o’clock, her friends, observing a great change, her mother said to her, “My child, you will soon be gone.” She answered, “Mother, I cannot sing, I have no strength.” Her mother said, “You need not fear, my child, if you are resting only in Jesus.” “Mother,” she replied, “I do rest in, Jesus, and am ready,” and in a few minutes she was gone — “absent from the body, present with the Lord.”

"I Know That I am Saved, for God Himself has Said so."

A POOR woman was dangerously ill. She had been attended for some time by a medical gentleman, a friend of the writer’s, and a Christian, who, for love of Christ, gave a large portion of his time, medicine, and skill, to relieving the diseases of the poor. He had attended this woman at the writer’s request, and one day, on meeting him in the street, remarked, “That woman cannot possibly live.”

“Does she know it?” inquired the writer;

“No,” said the physician; “we do not like to alarm our patients by telling them their danger, except under special circumstances.”

“Well,” replied the writer, “that woman, when. I last saw her, was quite unconcerned about her soul; perhaps if she knew that she must die, she might be awakened to a sense of her need of Christ.”

“I will go and tell her at once,” said the good physician; and away he went forthwith.

A few hours afterward, the, writer was sent for by the dying woman, to whom he was well known as a servant of Christ. On entering her chamber, she thus addressed him:

“The doctor tells me I must die I have been a good mother and a virtuous wife; I have done my duty by my husband and children. I have never willingly wronged man or woman; but there is one thing I have done: I HAVE NEGLECTED GOD ALL MY LIFETIME, and I am now going to stand before God’s judgment, and how shall I account to him for having done my duty by all and despised him? It seems so dreadful now to think of facing God with such a sin upon my head!”

The writer pointed her to Christ, whose precious blood cleanseth from all sin. She exclaimed in tones of terrible anxiety, “I want to believe, but I can’t. I have attended to everything else but him, and now that I am dying how can I expect him to listen to me? I fear it is too late!” Her visitor strove to persuade her that Christ would even yet receive her, reading to her the short, but significant history of the dying thief, and commenting on those gracious words, “Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out;” but for some time in vain. Her constant cry was, “I want to believe, I want to repent; but I cannot. Oh what shall I do?”

Quoting from Romans 10 the visitor replied, “It is written, Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved. Ask him to give you power to believe.”

Her reply was, “I don’t know how to ask: I have lived all these years in the world, and have never learned to pray!”

“Shall I pray for you?”

“Oh do!” she exclaimed; and most attentively did she listen as the writer besought a gracious God, for his dear Son’s sake, to give her grace to believe his blessed word and look to Jesus. Once more bidding her ask the Lord to enable her to believe in the all-sufficient blood of Christ, her visitor departed as she exclaimed, “Lord, help me to believe.”

This interview took place on a Monday morning. From that time down to Friday, the writer visited her every day. Each time he went he found her anxiety deepened, and ascertained that she had continued day and night to call upon the Lord. She never slept. Her disease was of such a nature that to lie down would have been suffocation. Propped up with pillows, she sat awake, too anxious about her soul, too much in earnest after salvation to close her eyes, or cease to call upon the Lord until the answer came. The gospel of the grace of God was daily set before her; but it was not till Friday morning, five days after the first mentioned conversation, that she got peace. On entering her room that morning, the first words that fell upon the visitor’s ears were, “I know that I am saved, for God himself has said so.” She lived but three days longer.

During this short interval, she who had (as she said) never learned to pray, poured forth such supplications on behalf of her husband, children, and friends, as astonished all who heard her. Many of her friends and neighbors gathered round her dying bed from time to time, and often expressed to the writer their wonder and surprise at what they heard from her lips. It is to be hoped that, short as was the space which elapsed between the moment she got peace and her departure, her testimony to the grace and power of the Saviour of sinners was blessed to some. She fell asleep in Jesus on the following Monday night, testifying to the last, “I know that I am saved, for God himself has said so.”

Reader, can you say so too? If not, consider the peril you are in. Your last hour may be near, must come at last. And when it comes, how will you account to God for the contempt you have shown for his Christ? Have you done your duty by all, and is he alone neglected and despised? What utter contempt for the Lord is couched in the moralist’s plea, “I have done my duty by my family and my neighbor, I have never injured any man.” God and his Christ set last of all! nay, set nowhere! Oh that we could arouse you to a sense of your danger before it is too late!

The subject of this narrative was aroused at last when death and judgment stared her in the face. She did not pray for forgiveness, that was offered her, assured to her by the blood of Christ. But she had heard and neglected the truth so often and so long, that when she wanted (oh how earnestly) to believe it, she could not. She sought power to believe, she strove, she agonized, she never slept, she never ceased to cry till she could say, “I know that I am saved, for God himself has said so.” “Go thou and do likewise.”

In the Ship and on the Sea.

(A Fragment.)

How easy it is when all things are smooth, to exercise faith in the power and goodness of the Lord! and with what fluency the tongue can talk, or the pen write, of his all-sufficiency when difficulties are out of sight! How readily then the poor heart takes credit to itself for “spiritual mindedness,” and thinks it “can do all things”! That the Lord is above all, is a truth known to every believer, but to mistake the knowledge of a truth for power to rest in it in the hour of difficulty and trial is self-complacency, and not faith. When Peter stood in the ship and saw Jesus walking on the water, nothing seemed easier. But when he was on the sea, what a difference it made! When in the ship, he was confident; when on the sea, he was terrified! In the ship, he could invite the trial; on the sea, he began to sink! In the ship, he judged that the Lord was all-sufficient to ensure his safety; on the sea, he cried, “I perish!” In the ship, he exclaimed, “Bid me come;” on the sea, “Lord, save me!” In the ship, his eye was on the Lord; but on the sea, it was upon the winds and waves. In the ship, he was self-complacent; therefore, on the sea, he sank. “Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall.” “Be not high-minded, but fear.”

An Infant's Prayer.

(For Little Ones.)

A POOR man, who knew not the Lord, and was therefore under the dominion of sin, which sometimes shows itself out in one way and sometimes in another, was given to drinking. When in this state, he often frightened his poor wife and children very much. One night when he came home, he was more violent than usual, and his bad conduct awoke his little boy, who was only about three years of age. The little fellow heard his mother crying, and that made him get out of bed to go to her. His father ordered him to go back to bed again, and he of course obeyed, for he was a good child and knew it was right to do as he was told. But before he got into his little bed again, he knelt down and prayed aloud: “Pray God bless dear father and mother, and make father a good father. Amen!” This went to his father’s heart. The gentle loving rebuke of such a little one opened his eyes to his great folly and wickedness. God used it to convict him of sin, and to show him his deep need of a Saviour. He sought the first opportunity of going where he could hear about Christ, and was at last converted. Washed from his sins in the Saviour’s blood, he was not only saved from condemnation, but delivered also from the dominion of sin. His wife too became a believer, and their home, instead of being the scene of misery and strife, became the abode of peace and comfort.

How kind it was of “the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity,” to stoop to listen to the supplications of such a little child!

“When little children trust his word,

And seek him for their Friend and Guide,

Their little voices will be heard,

And they will never be denied.”

"Is That It?"

Or, the Dying Infidel.

SOME years ago the writer visited a poor aged man, living at a small cottage in one of the provincial towns. He had been a very wicked man, one of that numerous class of persons who appear to have “no fear of God before their eyes,” but who rush on in wickedness, heedless of approaching danger. “The Gospel of the grace of God,” he had not only neglected, but despised and abused; and wrongly treated those who from time to time sought to set it before him. His was indeed a desperate case; he was a vile sinner, yet not beyond the reach of mercy. No, “God who is rich in mercy,” “not willing that any should perish,” desired in him also to “show forth all longsuffering,” however aggravating his case might be.

In order to bring this reckless sinner to a thorough knowledge of himself, God’s dealings with him were most striking. On a sudden he was taken ill, and was soon after compelled to leave his employment, when the fearful disease of consumption began its destructive work, and in a short space of time brought him extremely low, so that it might be truly said of him, “his flesh is consumed away, that it cannot be seen and his bones that were not seen stick out”(Job. 33:21). Being destitute of this world’s goods, and unable to resume his calling, difficulties seem to crowd in thickly and heavily upon him; and he met with little sympathy from those around him. His was truly a pitiable condition.

The writer having heard of his wicked career, and that he was still opposed “to God and to the, word of his grace,” for some little time shrank from visiting him; while the thought of leaving him to die in his sins without once more pressing upon him the terrible consequence, involved much. There was no time to lose. The precious moments were fleeting by, and fast hastening on the solemn hour when he must close his eyes to this world, and, if unsaved, be haled away into the abyss of misery “into everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels,” where there is blackness and darkness and torments forever, and where the wailing and gnashing of teeth of the lost are ceaseless! Oh, the awful and thrilling thought of being LOST!

The writer having made it a matter of prayer, became more deeply impressed with the importance as well as with the responsibility of visiting him at once, and resolved to do so with God’s help. Taking with him a small parcel, intended as a present and a means of introduction, he repaired to the sick man’s cottage, and, being shown into an upper room where he lay, the following conversation took place, as nearly as can be remembered. After a few introductory remarks, the visitor said, “I fear your complaint is of a serious nature.”

“I am very unwell, and, as you see, very much wasted,” replied the dying man.

“Indeed you are wasted; your time here I fear will soon come to a close.”

“Yes, it will.”

“How important to be ready to meet the solemn hour of death, is it not?”

“Well, it is; but I don’t profess to be religious.”

“It is far better that you do not, if it be only pression. In our day there is a great deal without the possession of that divine life by which only it can be acceptable to God. One is thankful to meet with any who are real and honest upon this point.”

“Ah, sir, I have known many who have made a profession, but there was no more religion in them than there was in me.”

“True it may have been so, ‘but all things are naked, and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.’ Like counterfeit coin, when tested, they will be found wanting, and therefore rejected as hypocrites.”

“Ah!”

“But our considering the character of others will avail us nothing. God’s message of love and grace to the sinner is an individual matter. God has provided a remedy to meet man’s ruin, and if we would be saved, we must know it and receive it for ourselves. Moreover, the salvation of our souls is a question which must be settled between God and us before we leave this world, or it will remain unsettled forever. We may certainly know now that we are saved.”

“Sir, I don’t believe it.”

“Perhaps not; many do not. I did not at one time. But there are none so free and happy as those who know their sins are forgiven, and who know they are now and forever saved. Did you never read in the Bible these words, ‘As many as received him [Jesus], to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them who believe on his name’? God proclaims the forgiveness of sins through, and only through, the finished work of his dear Son, now declaring ‘peace through the blood of his cross,’ and himself just, and the Justifier of him who believeth in Jesus.’ Good news indeed to the man who feels himself lost! Believe it, and be saved; reject it, and be lost. Believe it, and ere long you will be with Jesus in yonder glory; reject it, and eternal misery must be your portion. ‘He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life; he that believeth not the Son, shall not see life.’ ‘He that believeth on him, is not condemned; he that believeth not, is condemned already.’ Salvation through the sovereign grace of God; or condemnation through the rejection of it — which will you receive? I leave the matter with you, begging of you to decide shortly.”

After bidding him farewell, the visitor had opened the door, and was about leaving the room, when the man, with a look of horror, and a melancholy cry, uttered the following words: — “I hope God will have mercy on me.”

“God will have mercy on you, if you earnestly desire it,” replied the visitor.

“God, have mercy upon me, a sinner!”exclaimed the dying man.

“Shall I pray to God for you?”

“Yes.”

“What shall I say to him?”

“Ask God to have mercy on me.”

The visitor having prayed, set before him the love of God in the gift of his dear Son, but without the desired result. The man could not believe the love of God. He saw the fearful doom which awaits all who die unsaved, and, under full conviction of sin, trembled at the thought of dying unforgiven, but he could only cry, “God, have mercy upon me, a sinner!”

After the lapse of several days, the writer made another visit, accompanied by a Christian friend, who conversed with the man as follows: “I hear you are anxious to be saved. Are you a sinner?”

“Yes, I am a great sinner.”

“Do you really want to be saved?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then listen while I read to you God’s own words to sinners. ‘The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ ‘Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.’ ‘The Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.’ ‘Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree.’ Do you believe what God hath said in the Scriptures?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then tell me where are your sins? God hath said he laid them on Jesus. Now where do you say they are?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now, suppose you owed me a debt of £5, and I demanded the payment of it at a given time; would you not try your best to meet it? But if, after trying your utmost, you found it impossible to pay it, you would then be left to my mercy.”

“Yes.”

“Well, now, suppose I put you in prison, and kept you there until the debt was paid. While in prison, should you have any possible means of paying it?”

“None at all, sir.”

“And, finding yourself in prison without a hope of escape, you would be full of trouble; but were my friend here” (referring to the writer) “to pity you in your helpless condition, and, in pure love toward you, to pay your debt, and were the turnkey of the prison to open your cell door, and say to you, ‘Prisoner, your debt is paid; see here is the receipt, read it for yourself — you may now leave this prison a free man,’ would you stay there any longer?”

“No, I certainly should not.”

“Could I have you put in prison again for the same debt.”

“No, sir, not so long as the receipt remained.”

“You are right; this figure I have used to illustrate your present condition. You have by your sins contracted a great debt. You have incurred the wrath of God a debt which you can never pay, and be free. But the Lord Jesus Christ saw you and other poor sinners in this helpless state, and in pure lore bore the penalty, and paid the debt by his death. As he hung upon the cross, he said, ‘It is finished!’ or, in other words, ‘The debt is paid.’ He then ‘bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.’ But, although the debt was now paid, there was as yet no receipt. But God raised him up from the dead, and he at God’s right hand is now the believer’s Receipt. A second payment of the debt will not, and cannot, be demanded so long as the Receipt (Christ risen) remains. The prison door is open. Come forth, and be free. Jesus hath paid your debt, and God hath raised him from the dead to be a Saviour to all who will receive him. ‘Believe on the Lord. Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.’”

Tears of penitence were now rolling from the eyes of this broken-hearted sinner. The truth had been applied in power by the Spirit. When he could find utterance, he exclaimed in tones of mingled joy, astonishment, and conviction, “IS THAT IT?”

Before leaving, his visitors questioned him, in order to test the reality of his faith, but the only answer he gave them, was, “Jesus has paid my debt, and I can die happy.” He was safe on the Rock which can never be moved; and, on the night following died, triumphing through, and resting only on, the finished work of Christ — a monument of saving grace and, mercy in the last hour.

"Jesus Only!"

A SHORT time ago the writer was called away from home to the residence of an elderly lady on business. On arriving, he was invited into an upper room, where he found her busily engaged in reading a newspaper: and, as his business was of such a character as not to interrupt, she still continued her reading. When his work was finished, the thought suddenly occurred to him, “If my Lord and Master were here, he would not leave this room without first setting forth “the way of eternal life.” Oh, no! blessed Jesus, thou wert too full of love and grace ever to hide thy light from poor bighted sinners, for whom thou didst come to suffer and die. As the writer stood considering in what way he should open a conversation, he caught sight of a very large Bible. Going to it, and turning over its leaves, he said to the lady, “You have here a very old and valuable book.” She very politely answered, “Yes, that book has been in our family many years.” “Indeed! then I should judge you understand something of its contents?” “I ought so to do,” she replied. He continued, “I have on my mind a very serious question, and how glad. I should be if you could answer it.” “Oh, tell me what it is! I will try to answer it to the best of my ability.”

“Some time ago I was exercised with the solemn thought of appearing before God. Now, were I to die before evening, can you tell me in what way I could stand before God justified and saved?” Having paused a few seconds, she said, “I know of no other way than to keep the ten commandments.” “But,” said he, “I remember reading in the Bible, ‘By the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in his sight.’” “Ah I but stop,” said she,’ “don’t that mean the ceremonial law?” “Well, I don’t think so; but if it does,” he replied, “I am afraid to say that either moral or ceremonial law is the ground of a sinner’s justification before God.” She observed, “I am afraid you are wrong.” He continued, “I remember reading in the Bible, ‘Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth.’ Now, can you tell me for what purpose the Son of God came into this world?” She replied, “He came to die for sinners; and, if you believe on him, and keep the commandments, I believe you will be right.” “But,” said he, “I remember reading in the Bible” (and turning to Acts 13:39, read), “By him [Jesus] all that believe are justified from all things from which ye could not be justified by the law of Moses.’ “On hearing this Scripture, she seemed somewhat puzzled to find an answer. He then exclaimed, “I stand here inquiring as to the way of eternal life, but are you not directing me wrong? First, you tell me to keep the ten commandments. Secondly, you tell me to believe in Jesus, and keep the commandments; but here God says that if I believe in Jesus, I am justified from all things from which I could not be justified by the law of Moses. Whose words shall I believe, yours or God’s?” She answered timidly, “Believe God’s words.” “Oh,” said he, “I will believe God’s words; they are words of life. I am saved through believing them, and shall go to heaven: God says so. How cheering! How comforting! Oh the love of God! Would not you be happy if you knew you were now pardoned and saved?” She answered anxiously, “Yes, I should.” He continued, “Oh, take the place of a sinner before God at once. Believe on Jesus, and thou shalt be saved, for God says so. But, remember, it must be Jesus only.”

Before they parted, she informed the writer that she was about eighty years of age, that she had attended preaching for many years, and had had the word of God, the Bible, in her possession or within her reach from childhood. Yet, with all these advantages, she was like too many in circumstances equally favorable, ignorant of the truth that “a man is not justified by the works of the law,” nor by works and Christ, but that, if saved at all, the sinner must be saved by JESUS ONLY.

It need scarcely be said the writer was thankful for the interview. It was a season not easily to be forgotten. “The sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God,” cut down every prop, removed every difficulty, settled every question, and brought out JESUS ONLY!

"Jesus, Tender, Loving Shepherd."

JESUS, tender, loving Shepherd,

To thyself I lift mine eye!

Since thou hast in mercy taught me,

Thou didst come to earth to die,

Much I love thee,

Thou hast made me full of joy.

Once my heart was sad and fearful,

Knowing not thy precious love,

Knowing not the great salvation,

Brought in mercy from above;

Then I feared thee,

Then against thee, Lord, I strove.

Now, dear, loving, tender Shepherd,

By thy precious blood brought nigh,

‘Tis my happiness to praise thee,

‘Tis my constant sweet employ;

Blessed Shepherd,

In thy bosom let me lie.

Folded there, I dread no evil,

Sheltered there, no harm I fear;

Safe is every lamb, though feeble,

‘Neath the Shepherd’s watchful care;

Loving Shepherd,

Keep me till thou dost appear!

A. M.

Just as I Am.

AN Indian and a white man were brought under conviction by the same sermon. The Indian was shortly after led to rejoice in pardoning mercy. The white man, for a long time, was under distress of mind, and at times ready to despair; but he was at last brought also to a comfortable experience of forgiving love, Some time after, meeting his red brother, he thus addressed him: —

“How is it that I should be so long under conviction, when you found comfort so soon?”

“O brother,” replied the Indian, “me tell you. There come along a rich prince. He proposed to give you a new coat. You look at your coat, and say, ‘I don’t know; my coat pretty good. I think it will do a little longer.’ He then offered me new coat. I look on my old blanket: I say, ‘This good for nothing.’ I fling it right away, and accept the beautiful garment. Just so, brother, you try to keep your own righteousness for some time; you loth to give it up: but I, poor Indian, had none; therefore, I glad at once to receive the righteousness of God, — the Lord Jesus Christ.”

The Lambs of Christ.

EACH lamb of Christ is purchased

By precious blood;

Each lamb of Christ is nourished

With heavenly food;

Each lamb of Christ is tended

With loving care;

Each lamb of Christ is destined

Life’s home to share.

How happy to be folded

Upon his breast!

His purchased lamb, there ever

In peace to rest;

To fear no condemnation

Since he has died;

To have a full salvation —

To none denied.

Dear child, and art thou loving

This precious One?

Art thou, by faith, rejoicing

On God’s dear Son?

Fly to his loved embraces,

He waits for thee;

Accept his offer’d mercy,

And happy be.

A. M.

Learn While You May.

A ROMISH priest in Ireland one day met a little boy coming across a field from the parish school, with a Bible in his hand: “Do you go to that place?” said the priest pointing to the Protestant school.

“Yes, your reverence,” replied the boy.

“I thought so,” said the priest, “by the book that is in your hand. It is a bad book; give it to me.”

“That book is God’s word,” said the boy, “and it teaches us the way to love God, to be good, and to get to heaven when we die.”

“Come home with me,” said the priest.

The boy did so, and, on entering his study, the priest took the poor boy’s Bible and threw it on the fire.

“You shall never read that book again,” said the priest; “it is a bad book; and mind I shall not suffer you to go to that school again.”

The Bible was soon in flames, and the poor boy at first looked very sad; but as the priest grew more and more angry, and told him there was an end of it all now, the boy began to smile.

“Why do you laugh?” asked the priest.

“I can’t help it,” said the boy.

“I insist upon you telling me why you laugh,” said the priest.

“I can’t help laughing,” replied the boy; “for I was thinking your reverence couldn’t burn those ten chapters I’ve got by heart.”

A Letter for the Little Ones.

Mr. DEAR CHILDREN, —

BEING much engaged in this mighty city of London, I am unable to send you much correspondence; however, as the Lord gives me time and ability, I will gladly write something for you. My blessed Lord loves little children, and I love them too, and often think of his word, and say,

“I wish that his hand had been placed on my head,”

(Yes, my head; for though it is now a long time since I was a child, I do love to think of his hand being on my head, as well as on the heads of those dear little ones.)

“And his arms had been thrown around me,

And that I might have seen his kind look when he said,

‘Let the little ones come unto me.’”

Oh, what a look of love and kindness! Yes, and all who came to him with sad hearts went away joyful: whatever the cause of their sorrow might be, he could make them happy, and did. And now I want to say a word or two about this blessed. Saviour, and why I love him; and oh, if I can induce you to come to him too, I shall indeed be glad; for he is soon coming to take the little ones to glory with all those, whether old or young, who love him.

When about the same age as yourselves, I frequently heard about him, and was regularly in my place at the Sunday-school; but what a naughty boy I was to my dear teacher, and how I used to laugh and mock the dear people of God! But how glad I am to tell that one day I heard that Jesus was coming to rule and reign in this world, and put away all wicked people, and that he was going to make this world so bright and happy, and fill it with all the gentle and the good; and this made my heart sad, and afraid; and though I had dear parents who loved him, I was afraid I should not be with them in glory with Jesus, but shut up in hell forever and forever. Well, I did not know what to do: so I thought of some prayers I had read of, and was anxious to make myself right by saying these prayers. But, my dear children, prayers like these won’t save us, neither shall we be any better in God’s sight by saying them. You will say then, why this is just what I have done myself, and it must be right to pray to God. Well, it is right; but you may say prayers without praying, and that is not the way to escape the wrath to come, for you know, unless there is something more than this we are not safe, nor are we prepared for that moment when we must all appear before him. It was when I cast myself upon Christ that I was happy, when I believed that his precious blood “cleanseth from all sin.”

How sorry I am when I think of the many dear children around me who do not care to know whether he will receive them or no!

Now, Jesus carries in his bosom his little ones, like the shepherd takes the lambs that can’t walk.

It may be you want to feel safe and happy, and would be afraid if called to die, or would be frightened if Christ came. Well, it is not too late while I am writing, to come to him. He is calling you to him by this letter. He wants you to come. Believe him, trust him, give him your heart and confidence. He has died to put away sin, and prove that he loves you; and now he has risen above the power of death, and still loves little children, and in his word says, “Come unto me, and I will give you rest.”

Come to him now, where you are, just as you are: wait not, delay not, but come.

“Millions have reached that blissful shore,

And still there’s room for millions more.”

Yes, —

“There’s room in God’s eternal love,

To save thy precious soul;

Room in the Saviour’s grace above,

To heal and make thee whole.

There’s room in heaven among the choir,

And harps and crowns of gold,

And glorious palms of victory,

And joys that ne’er were told.”

May you, my dear readers, be encouraged to come, so that when the last moment arrives, when you will be called away from this earthly scene, you may be ready to meet him and be folded in his bosom forever. J. F.

Light.

THERE is a heaven in yonder blue,

A light upon the earth:

O light! so living and so true!

True yet as in its birth,

When first from heaven it came;

I see it still the same,

Touching this snow so white,

As if it loved to dwell in crystals all so bright.

The sun! it ever shines, and brings

The olden ray of childhood—ever clings

Around our childhood’s home,

Though far we roam.

It knows no change, will ne’er grow old,

Though shining on for centuries untold.

‘Tis but the one great light

That lighteth all our ways,

Seen in the stars at night,

And in our days:

And it will light us, when we die,

Up the great pathway of the sky.

The Little Boy Who Did What He Could.

(For Young Believers.)

SOME years since, a vessel was ready to be launched in Philadelphia; all the arrangements were completed; the last stay and prop had been knocked away, and yet she moved not. The workmen Nv ere then summoned to try their strength in pushing her off, but still she remained stationary. A little boy, who was standing by, said he could not push much more than a pound, but he was willing to do what he could. He joined his strength with others, and off went the ship majestically into the river.

In “this present evil world,” which, till the Lord comes, “lieth in wickedness,” God is making “known the riches of his glory on the vessels of mercy, which he hath afore prepared unto glory;” and you, dear readers, can render some help towards the accomplishment of his gracious purpose. Doubtless there are those who, in an especial manner, are raised up by God to be “workers together with him;” but you, however young in the divine life, have been saved that you may be useful, and blessed that you may “be a blessing.” You need not ask, Who are we, or what can we do? since “it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.” “Say not, I am a child,” was the word of the Lord to Jeremiah when he feared to speak in his name; and though you are not called to be prophets, yet if you shrink from helping on the work of God because you have but “a little strength,” the words which rebuked him may rebuke you also. Neither “the child Samuel,” nor the stripling David, was too young for the Lord to use in his service; and “in the days of his flesh,” the blessed Saviour not only took little children “up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them,” but “out of the mouth of babes and suckling’s” ordained strength to still the enemy and to perfect praise. And since then, who knows, save the Lord himself, the various ways in which young Christians have labored to promote the cause of Christ, and to what extent their labors have been blessed? Some, after much trial of faith and, patience, have been the means of bringing their parents and grandparents, their brothers and sisters, to know the Lord; and others, outside their own immediate circle, have pleaded so earnestly for the Saviour that those who had long rejected him have owned and felt his power to save.

Then, besides those by whom you are immediately surrounded, there are others in this and distant lands who “sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,” and if you feel for them as the “little maid” who “waited on Naaman’s wife” felt for her master, you will long for their conversion, and do what you can to help them to the gospel. If you have believing parents, you may have heard them speak of some who, from love to Christ, and in simple dependence upon the Lord for what they need, have left all that was naturally agreeable to them, and have gone about this and other countries to win precious souls for the Saviour. Perhaps when, “for his name’s sake, they went forth, taking nothing of the Gentiles,” your parents helped them “on their journey after a godly sort,” and it may be, have helped them since they reached the scene of their labors, in the same way as the Philippian saints sent into Thessalonica once and again unto Paul’s necessity.

Now, if such should be the case, could you not treasure up your spare money, and send some of it either to minister to their personal or domestic wants, or to enable them to visit “the regions beyond” them? In this way you would encourage them in the work, and “be fellow-helpers to the truth.”

And should any be so poor that they have nothing to give, let them help by prayer. Any, too, who are laid aside by sickness can help in the same way. There are, however, but few who could not give something, even if it were no more than the widow’s mites; and if all who are but able to do that only did it regularly, numbers of Bibles, Testaments, etc., might be forwarded to those who would thankfully receive them and gladly distribute them. Like the little boy who said he “could not push much more than a pound,” it may be but very little that you can do; but if the love of Christ constrain you to go and read the Bible to his unlettered or afflicted ones, or to care for and comfort those who are in solitude and trial, or to distribute, in any little measure, “to the necessity of saints,” “your work of faith and labor of love” shall not be “in vain in the Lord.”

O young believers, what say you to these things? Are you doing what you can to spread the glad tidings of salvation, to further “the gospel of Christ,” and to help those who have believed through grace? Are you, “as much as lieth in you,” presenting “your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service”? Belong not to that fearfully large and increasing class of believers who think that to be saved is everything — be neither drones in the Church, nor idlers in the Lord’s harvest; but as those who are set apart for God, be devoted, thorough, downright Christians. Your talents may be small, and your spheres of action limited, but remember, God often uses the feeblest instruments to accomplish his will. Be assured, where there is a will there is a way to glorify the Lord and serve him acceptably. Wait therefore on him, put yourselves into his hands, and beseech him to use you for his glory. And do not forget that it is only as you abide in Christ, and have his words abide in you, that you will be “meet for the Master’s use, and prepared unto every good work.” God grant that you may be “steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord,” so that when your earthly course is finished, it may be said of you, They have done what they could.

Little Heinrich's Prayer.

(For the Little Ones.)

THE little reader has perhaps read of Napoleon Buonaparte, the uncle of the present Emperor of the French, who, in his day, made many wars, fought many battles, conquered many countries, caused the death of millions, and overran nearly all Europe with his armies. Among other places thus invaded, his soldiers once watered a town in Silesia, where they took up their abode for the night, being quartered upon the inhabitants, by which is meant that each family in the place was compelled to find food and lodging for a certain number of soldiers. One of these unfortunate families was that of a poor weaver, who had not even enough food in the house for his own children; how then could he provide for a company of strangers? Nevertheless, he was expected to do so. A party of soldiers entered, and demanded to be supplied with bread, meat, and beer. In vain did he assure them that he had nothing for them; his refusal was taken as a proof of enmity, and his exasperated visitors threatened not only to destroy everything in the place, but to lay violent hands on himself, unless he satisfied their demands. Remonstrance was useless, and they had already begun the work of destruction, when a little boy of six years of age, named Heinrich, who had crept behind the stove for fear of these violent men, suddenly came forth from his hiding-place, and, kneeling down before all at the feet of his terrified father, prayed thus: “O thou merciful Saviour I make these soldiers merciful, that they may obtain mercy of thee.”

That little prayer was heard. The little boy had confessed the Lord before them all, and the Lord owned him. One of the astonished soldiers turned to the rest, and exclaimed, “Comrades, come away! God dwells in a house where there is prayer. Weaver,” said he to the father of the child, “we did not mean to do you harm. Here’s a coin for you,” and throwing down a piece of money, they all left the house.

“Them that honor me I will honor.”

The Little Missionary.

(For Little Ones.)

A LITTLE girl, whose parents were both unconverted, was accustomed to go alone to a place where the gospel of the grace of God was faithfully preached. Instead of sitting idle and inattentive, as too many little ones do, thinking of all sorts of things, and, perhaps, wishing the time would pass quickly by, that they may go home to dinner or to play, this dear little girl was all attention; and when “the sower,” that is the preacher, you know, stood up “to sow the seed” of the word of God, she listened to all that was said. Now the word of God is never really listened to in vain. Those who close their ears against it are like the “way-side,” on which the seed falls only to be devoured by “the birds of the air;” but little Mary, as we will call her, was not one of these. She really listened; the Lord gave her understanding, and she believed, and was saved. With a bright and happy face she hurried home to tell her parents. They, alas! neither understood, nor cared to share her joy. But she was not cast down at that. “The love of God, shed abroad in her heart by the Holy Ghost, given unto her,” convinced her that he who had saved her must be willing to save her parents also. She set herself to persuade her mother to go with her to the place where she had got such blessing. At first her persuasions were all in vain, but she was so in earnest that she persevered even to tears, beseeching her to yield, and at last succeeded. Her mother went; the preacher spoke from “I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God unto salvation.” Mary’s mother found it so. She was brought under conviction, and in a little time got settled peace through the blood of Christ. How delighted little Mary felt when she saw her dear mother rejoicing in the Lord, you may easily understand, if, like her, you are a believer. But now Mary’s mother was as much concerned about her husband’s salvation as the child had been about them both, and she joined her little daughter in trying to get the husband and father to go with them. He went at last, and the Lord rewarded the earnest efforts of the wan and child by bringing him also to a knowledge of the truth, as it is in Jesus. What joy for little Mary and her mother, — a joy everlasting!

Little reader, do you love the Lord Jesus Christ? We hope you do, for it is a sad thing indeed for a little one to know nothing of one so worthy of all love. But if you do love Christ, see in dear little Mary an example which you should seek to follow. If your parents are believers, you doubtless know others who are not. Some of your friends or playmates are ignorant of Jesus. Set to work with all your heart in trying to get them to attend some place where Christ is truly preached. Talk to them, pray for them, persuade them, be in earnest, and depend upon it the Lord will own it sooner or later. But, like little Mary, you must feel for them, you must be really concerned about them; and this you will be if you truly understand the blessing you have got, and which they are lacking. Think, too, how terrible it would be if they were to “die in their sins!” To go “where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched,” to be LOST forever and ever, because they have not believed in Jesus, would be a fearful doom indeed. How sad it would make you to think that you had never tried to lead them where they might have heard that Gospel which is “the power of God unto salvation to everyone that believeth.”

The Little Ransomed One.

(For the Young.)

A GENTLEMAN, passing through a slave market in the Southern States some years ago, was attracted by the tears of a poor girl, who with a group of other slaves was about to be put up to auction, as cattle are in other lands. Happily the wicked law which authorized slavery in those States has been annulled; not because the people, who called themselves Christians, repented of this great national crime, but because God, in his good providence, caused it to be put down by the strong hand of power, when it had reached a height of enormity which had long shocked the feelings of humanity. Think, dear young reader, how terrible the sin of that law must have been in the sight of God, which justified a man even in selling his own poor children! And if you wonder that any people could have been so wicked and so cruel, how will you wonder when you are told that they (professing Christians) tried to make it out that the Bible, the pure and blessed book of God, authorized their wicked deeds! You will say it is indeed true, that “the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.” How blind must these men have been not to have seen that when Paul sent back Onesimus to his master, he told that master to receive him not now as a, servant (or slave), but above a servant, a brother beloved. Could he sell or beat a brother beloved? Could he dare to treat any longer as a slave one in whom Christ dwelt? If he could have been guilty of such a crime, what would have been the consequence to himself from the chastening hand of him who hath said, “Why persecutest thou ME?” No, the precious Bible did not authorize the Southern planters’ sin, but it did bring about the deliverance of the poor helpless captives. If you know anything of history, you will know that slavery was almost universal until the Gospel of the grace of God was preached, and the word of God—the Bible—was circulated and spread abroad into all lands. This precious book is meant to set forth Christ, and to bring men to him; but even where they in their blindness reject his gospel, and thus come short of the blessing they might have had, it has nevertheless an influence wherever it comes, an influence even over those unhappy men called infidels, an influence which it exercises in spite of themselves, so that they get as it were educated up into views of things and principles which but for the Bible they would never have had. They may vainly think that this is owing to what they vaguely call “the march of intellect,” and so forth; but history tells you plainly that that “march” was always backward till the precious Bible was spread about the world. So then it was the Bible and nothing else that taught men to abhor the cruel law of slavery in the Southern States of America.

But to return to our narrative. The group of slaves stood in a row beside the auctioneer, and one by one were sold to the highest bidder. Most of them had probably got so accustomed to be sold from hand to hand, that they did not seem to care about it; perhaps they felt that their lot could not well be worse, let who would buy them; and so in dull despair they passed on in their hopeless captivity. But with the poor slave girl it was not so. Every blow of the hammer on the auctioneer’s rostrum made her shake and her tears to burst forth afresh. The gentleman noticed this, and his kind heart bled for her.

On inquiry he found that she had been brought up by a kind master; and now about to be sold into the hands of strangers, she trembled to think of the cruelty to which she might be subjected. There was but one way of deliverance, and that was to buy her and set her free. This the kind-hearted stranger hesitated not to do; and although he thought a little when he heard the high price demanded, yet, moved by compassion for her misery, he paid it down.

But no joy came to the poor slave’s face when he told her she was free. She had been born a slave, and knew not what freedom meant. Her tears fell fast on the signed parchment, which her deliverer brought to prove it to her. She only looked at him with fear.

At last he got ready to go his way; and as he told her what she must do when he was gone, it began to dawn on her what freedom was. With the first breath, she said— “I will follow him, — I will follow him; I will serve him all my days;” and to every reason against it, she only cried, “He redeemed me! He redeemed me! He redeemed me!”

When, in after years, strangers visited that master’s house, they could not but notice the loving, constant service of the glad-hearted girl. And when they-asked her why she was so eager, with unbidden service, night and day, she had but one answer, and she loved to give it. With glowing features and tearful eyes, she would tell the short tale of her hopeless captivity and sudden deliverance in its darkest hour; and then, pointing in the direction of her master’s room, she would close with “He redeemed me!”

Dear young reader, do you know what it is to be redeemed, not with silver and gold, “but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot”? If you do, let not the example of the poor slave-girl be lost upon you. Her master paid a heavy price for her deliverance; your Lord gave himself. Her kind deliverer had no doubt to exercise some self-denial afterward, to make up for the loss he had incurred for her sake but who shall tell what your REDEEMER endured when on the cross he bowed in anguish, and cried, “My God, my God, why past thou forsaken me?”

And if she could never forget what she owed to him who had saved her from a life-long misery, nor cease to serve him with gladness, can you who have been saved from never-ending woe, forget the love that brought you out of all the ruin you were in, and gave you everlasting life? No, let his “preciousness” attract you continually; let the remembrance

“Of what he suffered for our sake,

To save our souls, to make us meet

Of all his glory to partake,”

be constantly before your eyes. Let your glad devotedness to his service be such as shall glorify him: and when any ask you the reason of your love to his name, tell them “HE REDEEMED ME,” and has since taught me to love him for the preciousness I see in Himself.

"Lord to Whom Shall We Go?"

John 6:68.

“LORD of life! to thee I fly

When the world hangs heavily,

Heavily upon my heart,

And earthly thoughts no peace impart:

Earthly hopes, all hollowness;

Earthly joys, deceitfulness;

Earthly pleasure, after pain;

Earthly stay, an ebbing wave

Earthly end, the dark cold grave.

Wearily, wearily,

From worldly wastes, so drearily

That round me lie, —

From trouble, toil, and vanity,

From care and strife

To thee I turn, — to thee I flee,

Thou Lord of life.”

Lost.

(For the Little Ones.)

A SHORT time ago, I saw a little boy standing in one of the streets of B―, crying very bitterly. His loud sobs drew a great many people around him, some of whom soon began to ask him what was the matter. Poor little fellow, his distress was so great, that he was a long time before he could say. At last he cried, “I’ve — lost — my — mother.” He had left his mother’s side to look into the shop windows, and when he looked round again, she was gone. Inquiries were made, his parent was searched for, and at last was found; and the little boy was soon again by his mother’s side, much to their mutual joy.

I thought as I beheld the scene, what a picture of the condition of every little boy and girl, yea, man and woman too, — by nature lost!

My dear little reader, such is your position by nature, and condition, too, now, if you have not believed in Jesus the Saviour of the lost. Oh how fearful a position to be in! Think of it, my dear little one, and may God by his Spirit bring you to know your need of Jesus, the “good Shepherd,” who came all the way from heaven to seek and to save such; who, when he was here upon this earth, “took little children up in his arms and blessed them.” Do I hear you say, “I should like to have been with him then?” Well, dear little one, he is the same loving, gentle Shepherd now as he was then. He loves “the little children” still, and he is as willing to save you now. Will you not come to him? He has said you may. “Whosoever will, let him come, and take of the water of life freely.” The words which he spake, when down here— “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of God”— are as true now as when he first uttered them. Oh come, then, dear little one, to him, believe on him; he has said, “Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.” Observe, dear child, what the little boy did when he knew he was lost; he did not wander from street to street in search of his parent, for in doing this he would have got farther off from her. No; he stood still, and cried; hence he was soon found.

Now, my dear little one, I would ask you if the case of this little boy in any way describes your own. Do you feel that you are a lost sinner? God’s word declares you are, that you are dead in trespasses and sins. Young as you are, you have done that which you ought not to have done; hence the truth of God’s word: “All have sinned.” You were born in sin; and what a hateful thing “SIN” is in God’s sight! for even the holy Jesus, when he was made sin for us on the cross, was forsaken of God.

It is a sense of this that I want you to have, because it will bring you to feel your need of Christ. When a little boy or girl, or any one, is sick, they need a physician; and it is their being so that brings them to feel their need of him. May the sense of your need of Jesus, dear little one, bring you by faith to him: he alone can save you.

I dare say you remember the case of the poor woman in the 8th chapter of Luke, who had an issue of blood twelve years, and “who spent all her living upon physicians, neither could be healed of any,” she went to Jesus, and touched the border of His garment, and immediately her issue of blood stanched; she felt her need of Him, for “they that are whole need not a physician, but they that are sick;” she believed in Jesus, and she was saved. The Lord Jesus said to her, “Thy faith hath made thee whole: go in peace.” What gracious words! how they must have lit up the heart of the poor woman! What a mercy it was for her that she went to Jesus; she got in one minute (through believing in him) what she had been trying to get for twelve years, and had she tried her best twelve years longer, she would not have been healed but would only have got worse; and more than that, she might have died. So it may be with you, my dear little one, you may die very soon, and then where are you going? Or the Lord Jesus may come from heaven at any moment to take all those who have believed in him, up to be with himself forever; then would you be left behind? Oh my dear little one, your case is very important; your need is very great, your soul is very precious; time is very short, Jesus stands with open arms to receive you. Perhaps you say, What am I to do? Do, dear little one?

“We are not told to labor

To put away our sin;

So foolish, weak, and helpless

We never could begin.

There is nothing to do,

For being born dead,

We must needs have another

To work in our stead.

Nothing, either great or small;

Nothing, dear child, no;

Jesus did it, did it all,

Long, long ago.

When he from his lofty throne

Stooped to do and die,

Everything was fully done.

Hearken to his cry —

‘It is finished;’ yes, indeed,

Finished every jot;

Dear child, this is all you need,

Tell me, is it not?”

Then “believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved” (Acts 16:31).

G. H.

The Loving Saviour

THE Saviour is loving,

The Saviour is kind;

lie came down from heaven

The lost ones to find;

He never refuseth,

Or turneth away;

Oh prove him, dear children,

And prove him today.

How many dear children

Have leant on his breast!

How many dear children

His name have confest!

Believing and happy,

His goodness they prove;

Make one of their number,

And share in his love.

A. M.

More Than an Angel.

“COULD an angel come from heaven,”

Said a blooming little boy,

“Could he leave its blessed precincts,

With its pleasure and its joy,

And come and visit us below,

Awhile on earth to dwell,

Oh, what a tale of ecstasy,

His angel lips could tell!

“Methinks, mamma, I could not tire

Of listening to his voice;

For oh, to hear an angel

Would make my heart rejoice!

He could tell us of the mansions,

So very far away;

He could tell us what bright angels do,

And what bright angels say.

“And he might bring me tidings

Of my father dear, who died;

For you said he went to heaven,

When so bitterly I cried;

And he might know my father,

For they have the same bright home

And amid the same bright glories,

All happily they roam.”

“Hush, hush, ray little darling!

You know not what you say;

But if you love the Saviour,

And His gracious call obey,

You’ll be taken up to heaven,

When the blessed Lord shall come,

And shall see your dearest father

In the angels’ happy home.

“Then higher than an angel

Would my little darling be;

And more beauty in the heavens

Than the angels he would see;

And his song would be far sweeter,

As a sinner saved by grace,

Than the angels’, ever sinless,

Before Jehovah’s face.

“For not for happy angels,

Did the Lord of glory die;

It was for wretched sinners

He laid his glory by;

Believe on him, my precious,

And to the Saviour flee,

Then higher than an angel,

Shall my little darling be.”

A.M.

Naaman.

SAY, in what doth it profit the warrior bold

That his king and his country admire;

That his name is revered, that his prowess is told

To the wondering son by his sire?

Can his well-earned laurels, his riches, his leas,

All the honors his sovereign can give,

Loose the fetters, that, bound by a loathsome disease,

To great Naaman, the Syrian, cleave.

No! the fearful disease is now taking its course,

In this case human skill is in vain:

And, alas the brave sufferer knows not the Source

From whence only relief he can gain.

But a Judean stranger, a captive young maid,

Brings the news to his wondering ear;

That her God, and he only, can meet his deep need,

And his stricken heart solace and cheer.

From the depths of despair now his head he can lift,

For a faint ray of hope he can see;

But with silver and gold he, would purchase the “gift”

That’s so priceless, abundant, and free.

Thus the sinner, when brought to behold himself lost,

Quite appall’d at the terrible view,

He is willing, like Naaman, to pay all the cost, —

Yes, like Naaman, “some great thing”to do.

Then he brings forth his “good works,”his prayers, his sighs,

With his vows, frames and feelings, and tears;

But as well might he offer the Syrian’s gold,

To obtain a release from his fears.

All these things, as foundation for peace, are as dross,

For in this Christ alone can avail;

He once offered himself for our sins on the cross,

And his sacrifice never can fail.

So the legalist’s righteousness well may be classed

With Abana and Pharpar of yore;

In Abana and Pharpar might Naaman have washed,

Yet he must have remained as before.

Yes, ‘tis humbling to flesh — only “wash, and be clean!”―

Thus God’s ways are too simple for man;

For his leprosy only to God lie must bring,

And he needs must submit to his plan.

Naaman calls on the prophet who forthwith commands,

That in Jordan he “wash, and be clean;”

But, enraged, he remarks, that his own native land

Possessed streams to which Jordan was mean.

He had well-nigh foregone, in the pride of his fame,

The rich blessing so ardently sought;

And, accustomed to homage, believed that his name,

Should the seer to his presence have brought.

Fierce but brief is the struggle, — no longer his pride

In the way of his cleansing is seen;

Now, in simple obedience, he enters the tide,

And the poor defiled leper is clean.

But how great the delight, when his wife, when his king,

Shall behold the loved hero restored;

Outward type of the cleansing effected within,

For their Naaman now worshipped the Lord.

M. F.

"No Condemnation."

“No condemnation!” It is true!

Sweet are the words Divine;

And lo, to Him whose words they are

My soul I now resign.

Doubtings have long possessed my heart:

I thought the love too free;

I feared to think that such a gift

Could be for sinful me.

I fain would do some mighty thing,

Repent, perform, or pray;

I failed to see the precious blood

Could wash all sins away.

But now ‘tis done! The loving voice

Of mercy has been heard;

“No condemnation!” it has said,

And I believe the word.

Christ’s precious blood has met my case,

Has purged my guilty soul,

Sweet peace is mine, through precious grace,

And joy unspeakable.

A. M.

Old Betty, or Submission.

“HAVE you never heard the story of old Betty?” said I to a friend who was telling me some sad history of domestic discomfort. — “No!”

Then let me tell it you. The story was told me by a young lady whom I met at the sea-side; and though I believe it has appeared in print, I know no other version of it but the one she told me.

“Some years after I was converted,” said Miss F―, “it pleased the Lord to lay me aside from active occupation, and to confine me to a sick couch for full two years. This inactivity was very grievous to me, and my constant prayer was for restoration to health, and power once more to go about visiting the sick and teaching the ignorant.

“When visited by kind Christian ministers and sympathizing friends, my constant request was that they would pray for my recovery, and that I might have faith to believe that the Lord would heal me.

“Still I grew no better. About the end of the second year, I one afternoon received a visit from a minister unknown to me, who in God’s providence was then visiting the place where I lived. He read and prayed with me, he sympathized with my sufferings, and listened to my troubles. I lamented to him my weak faith, which I felt assured was the cause of my continued weakness of body.

“‘Miss F―,’ replied the minister, ‘have you never heard the story of Betty, the old match-seller?’ I had not. ‘Old Betty,’ said he, was brought to the knowledge of Jesus in her old age, and from the time of her conversion never thought she could do enough for him who had loved her and washed her from her sins in his own blood. She went about doing good. She was ready to speak of her Lord and Master to all she met. She would nurse the sick, visit the afflicted, beg for the poor and for the heathen; she would give to those poorer than herself portions of what the kindness of Christian friends bestowed on her. In short, she was always abounding in the work of the Lord.

“ ‘But in the midst of this happy course, she caught a violent cold and rheumatism, and was confined to her bed; there she lay day after day, and week after week, and I believe lay there till the Lord called her home.

“ ‘On her sick bed, Betty was as happy as she had been in her active duties; she was much in prayer; she repeated hymns and passages of Scripture; she meditated on the good things she had learned, and on the home to which she was hastening.

“ ‘One day Betty was visited by an old friend, a minister, who had long known her. He was astonished to see his once active and useful old neighbor so happy in her bed, and he said to her, “I little expected, Betty, to see you so patient; it must be a great trial to one of your active mind to lie here so long doing nothing.”

“ ‘Not at all, sir; not at all,’ said old Betty; when I was well I used to hear the Lord say to me day by day, ‘Betty, go here; Betty, go there: Betty, do this; Betty, do that;’ and I used to do it as well as I could; and now I hear him say every day, ‘Betty, lie still and cough.’”

Miss F― told me this story as she heard it from her visitor, and she said it had a very strong effect on her mind. She began to think that it was self-will, rather than faith, that made her so anxious to get well and be active again; and she humbled herself before God, begging for grace to bear his will rather than seek her own. She became tranquil, happy, and contented on her sick bed, and almost immediately after it pleased the Lord to restore her to health, and continue her in it to the time when I met her.

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls.” “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus.”

The Old Frozen Moat.

(For the Young.)

BESIDE an ancient moat, overshadowed by old elder trees, and a tall hawthorn hedge, stood one of those fine old historical houses, whose faded grandeur, belonging to times long passed away, tells such a tale of the utter vanity of all earthly things. This ancient mansion had once been the occasional residence of Queen Elizabeth, and, like several such still scattered up and down the country, was, so tradition said, one of her numerous hunting-seats.

It was mid-winter, and instead of green leaves and fragrant blossoms, branch and spray of hawthorn and elder were now only decked with snow. The old moat was frozen, and seemed to offer a tempting surface to those who, like most of my young readers, are fond of sliding and skating on the ice. But the old moat was not to be trusted, after all; for, as in most of the promised pleasures of this world, danger lurked where none was seen. Fair to the eye, but treacherous to those who would trust it, the frozen moat, although it looked sound, was, in many parts, very unsafe, for, on account of the shelter of the trees, it did not freeze so fast as more open waters, and the frost had but recently set in.

In this old traditional hunting-seat lived a little boy, who, wishing to do his schoolfellows a pleasure, had brought some of them home with him to slide upon the moat. Among them was one whom I will call little George. Now, George’s father had forbidden him to get upon the ice at all, knowing that it was not yet sufficiently hardened; and a father’s wishes ought to have kept him from accompanying his playmates, especially to a place so dangerous, as the moat was known to be. But I am sorry to say that the temptation of a good game had more power with him than his father’s wishes, and, as a matter of course, his disobedience brought its own punishment.

At first none of the boys cared to venture far along the ice, but, finding it stronger than they had supposed, they soon forgot their caution. George had intended only to go a little way, and then return, supposing, perhaps, that a little disobedience was excusable; but when we take one false step, it is sure to lead to many. Excited by the amusement, he soon outstripped the rest, and, sliding merrily along the moat, approached a spot more densely shaded than the rest by trees Hardly had he reached it, when the crashing sound, so well-known, and so ominous to skaters, was heard, and in another moment he was in the ice-cold water, and clutching helplessly at the broken fragments floating round him. How forcibly his perilous situation reminds us of the actual condition of every one, old and young, who has not yet believed in the Lord Jesus Christ! Unless saved by another, poor George must perish, for he cannot save himself. In vain he clings to the broken ice; it was that which let him in, how then could it save him? In vain does the sinner cling to his own doings; it is his broken works which condemn him, how then can. they save? True the sinner’s works did not originally bring him into all this ruin, any more than did the ice bring poor George upon its surface; disobedience did that; and disobedience brought man into all the ruin he is in, and keeps him there. Poor little George cried aloud for help as he felt himself sinking in the deep old moat, but his cries could not deliver him, any more than can the converted sinner’s prayers save him from everlasting destruction. Many make a mistake here. They think that many prayers will give them favor in God’s sight, and move him to have mercy on them. Ah, they do not know him! nor consider that it was his love that moved him eighteen hundred years ago to give unasked his own dear Son to die for sinners. “For God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

George’s companions were terribly alarmed, as they well might be, when they saw his perilous situation and heard his piteous cries for help. Alas, what could they do? They were all young, the banks were steep, the trees obstructed their efforts, they could not reach their perishing companion; no effectual aid was nigh, nor was there time to fetch it, for a few moments would terminate the scene, and, sinking beneath the dark waters, their little friend would be lost. Poor little George! How bitterly did he now repent of having disobeyed his father! and how the reflection added to his misery! But repentance could not save him; feelings of contrition, however deep and agonizing, could not snatch him from a watery grave; ANOTHER must do it all, if it was to be done; and that other was found. A little fellow, younger even than the perishing boy, came to his rescue. Snatching a prop, which happened to be at hand, he ran to the spot where, but for him, George had gone down unto death, and, extending it to the sinking child, who seized it convulsively, drew him to the bank. Poor George was saved!

Young reader, what a striking figure we may see in, this of him who, beholding our ruin and helplessness, came to our deliverance, because he loved us! “Made like unto us,” sin only excepted, he went to Calvary, and there upon the cross endured the wrath of God for us, exhausted all the penalty due to sin, and now, through the blood of his cross, having purchased eternal redemption, he holds out deliverance to all. Lay hold of the truth concerning Jesus. Little George did not hesitate to seize the prop. He felt — he knew — his peril. Perhaps you do not. Be persuaded. “He that believeth not the Son, shall not see life; but THE WRATH OF GOD ABIDETH ON HIM.” The dark waters of death and eternal condemnation are all around you. If once you sink beneath them — if you die in your sins, you are eternally lost. There is not a moment to lose. Lay hold NOW; cling to the prop, the tree, the cross. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.”

May God grant, dear young readers, that all who see this little narrative may be enabled to perceive, not only their real state by nature and practice, but also that the DELIVERER has come, and has done ALL that was needed for their rescue; so that there remains nothing for them now, but to obey God by believing in Him: whom he hath raised from the dead, even the Lord Jesus Christ, “who was delivered for our offenses, and was raised again for our justification.” Clinging to the cross, and looking up to him who stands in life, “able to save to the uttermost,” or for evermore, you HAVE deliverance. Willful disobedience alone can keep you where you are. Beware how you “turn away from him who now speaketh from heaven.”

The Old Scotchwoman's Faith.

BY the side of a rippling brook, in one of the secluded glens of Scotland, there stands a low, mud-thatched cottage, with its neat honeysuckled porch facing the south. Beneath this humble roof, on her snow-white bed, lay old Nanny the Scotchwoman, patiently and cheerfully awaiting the moment when her happy spirit would take its flight to “mansions in the skies;” experiencing with holy Paul, “We know that if our earthly-house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” By her bedside, on a small table, lay her spectacles, and her well-thumbed Bible — “her barrel and cruse,” as she used to call it, from which she daily, yea, hourly, spiritually fed on the “Bread of Life.” A young minister frequently called to see her; he loved to listen to her simple expressions of Bible truths, for when she spoke of her “inheritance, incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away,” it seemed but a little way off, and the listener almost fancied he heard the redeemed in heaven, saying, “Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood.”

One day, the young minister put to the happy saint the following startling question, “Now Nanny,” he said, “what if, after all your prayers, and watching, and waiting, God should suffer your soul to be eternally lost?” Pious Nanny raised herself on her elbow, and turning to him a wistful look, laid her right hand on the “precious Bible,” which lay open before her, and quietly replied, “As, dearie me, is that a’ the length you hae got yet, man?” And then continued, her eyes sparkling with almost heavenly brightness, “God would hae the greatest loss. Poor Nannie would but lose her soul, and that would be a great loss indeed; but God would lose his honor and his character. Haven’t I hung my soul upon his ‘exceeding great and precious promises,’ an’ if he brak his word, he would make himself a liar, AND A’ THE UNIVERSE WOULD RUSH INTO CONFUSION.” Thus spoke the old Scotch pilgrim. These were among the last words that fell from her dying lips; and most precious words they were, like “apples of gold in baskets of silver.”

Let the reader consider them. They apply to every step of the pilgrim’s path, from the first to the last. By faith the old Scotchwoman had cast her soul’s salvation upon God’s promise in Christ by the gospel. She knew that his dear Son had said, “He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, HATH everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation, but is passed from death unto life.” She knew that God hath said, “By him (Christ) all that believe are justified from all things;” that “The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from ALL SIN;” for “He bare our sins in his own body on the tree.” This was the first step. And all through life the Scottish pilgrim hung upon HIS “exceeding great and precious promises,” for all things and in every hour of need. The Divine argument of Romans 8 was hers by faith — “He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?” In every sorrow she had found him a “very present help in trouble;” and now, about to leave the weary wilderness for her everlasting home, could she think that he would prove unfaithful to his word? No; sooner than should poor old Nanny’s soul be lost, God’s honor, God’s character, GOD HIMSELF must be overturned, and “A’ THE UNIVERSE RUSH INTO CONFUSION.” Dear old pilgrim!

A. H.

The Pitying Saviour.

JESUS, thou didst pity me,

When I wandered far from thee:

Thou didst hasten to my aid,

In the dust of death vast laid,

That thou might’st obtain for me

Life and immortality.

O my Saviour! precious Lord!

Worthy thou to be adored:

Let thy mercy, vast and free,

Bind my very soul to thee!

Daily let me thee adore,

Loving now and evermore!

A. M.

Portrait of a Little Child.

“At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Which is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, and said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.” — Matt. 18:1-5.

LONG since, you asked me to portray

“A little child,” and I essay

To do it for you now:

Dependent, simple is his way,

He lives, and knows not how.

Self-conscious, subtle, ne’er is he,

He dwells in love’s unfathomed sea,

Imbibing sovereign grace;

God stoops in majesty, to be

His strength, his hiding-place.

Borne out of self, by power Divine,

He nothing knows of “me” or “mine,”

His ignorance is wise;

His course is pure, his instincts fine,

He weareth no disguise.

Surrounded by immensity,

He lives within the unity.

Of peace Divine, profound;

His native sphere is verity,

Too unfrequented ground!

He seeks not evil’s depths to find,

He keeps a quiet, even mind,

Nor thinks of self at all;

In every change content, resigned,

Howe’er the lot may fall.

Unconscious in his innocence,

In infantine indifference

He goes as he is led;

If carried, smiles his recompense,

Or, cheerful, walks instead.

Without concern he doth receive

Whate’er his loving parents give,

Returning their caress, —

The only thanks he can conceive

For all their tenderness!

Those little laughings of delight,

Those tiny hands, outstretching quite

Toward her who loves him best,

Are all his science, all his might;

Her bosom is his nest.

In fine, the smallest, feeblest child

Is pliant, simple, docile, mild,

Kept in dependence true;

It cries, and even laughs the while,

Is weak, defenseless too.

An infant’s mind no doubts perplex,

No knotty points its spirit vex,

Its guide ‘twill not gainsay;

It never anxiously reflects

On dangers by the way.

An infant, so dependent still,

Finds no occasion for a will;

It takes the given good,

Nor ever thinks to wait until

They analyse its food.

It cannot do the slightest thing

To make itself, when dirty, clean;

‘Tis dressed, ‘tis put to sleep;

It cannot e’en say words that mean

“How well the charge you keep!”

A child is happy anywhere,

Beside the fire, in open air,

In days both dark and bright;

God makes the little child his care,

His pattern, his delight.

MDME. T. J. M. B. DE LA MOTHS GUYON.

Translated Oct. 1St 1867.

Prayer for Children.

LORD, work amongst dear children

In quickening, living power;

Bestow upon the children

Life’s everlasting dower;

O let our precious children

In early ages know,

That e’en to little children

Thy precious grace can flow.

Thou, Lord, hast many children,

Within thy family;

Thou lovest little children,

Who early come to thee;

Thou once didst suffer children

To feel thy loved embrace;

Nov let dear little children

Be saved by precious grace.

Then round thyself the children

Shall throng, and lisp thy name;

And e’en dear little children

Thy praises shall proclaim.

Oh sweet to see the children,

Live, precious Lord, before thee,

Till round thyself the children

Sing, “glory, glory, glory!”

A. M.

The Prayer of Faith.

IT is stated in the “Life of Major Vandeleur,” that one afternoon he heard that a man in the arsenal had met with a serious accident; and, as soon as his work there was over, he hastened to the hospital to see what could be done for the comfort of the poor fellow. The doctors had just decided upon immediate amputation of the foot. The man was lamenting, not his own suffering, but the prospect of starvation before his poor wife and little children, if he were to leave the hospital a cripple for life. Arthur earnestly requested the doctors to postpone the amputation until the next day. They did not consider that the delay would involve any serious consequences, and therefore consented to it.

Arthur went home to plead earnestly with God on behalf of this poor man, whose distress had so moved his heart. That prayer of faith met with an immediate answer. The next morning the doctors pronounced the foot to be so much better that there was every reason to hope that it might be saved; and in a short time the man entirely recovered.

But a better blessing still was given in answer to that prayer of faith. “The major spoke kindly,” said he, “and prayed with me, and told me about the Saviour who shed his precious blood for sinners. And then I began to see that I, who thought I had not a friend anywhere, had found two friends, an earthly and a heavenly Friend. I was enabled to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, was delivered from the dominion of sin, and from that hour became another man. There was room for a change; for I had never been to school nor to a place of worship from the time I was ten years of age. I never had a mother’s prayers; and if any one spoke to me about religion, all I did was to laugh at them. As soon as I came out of the hospital I sought opportunity to serve the Lord in setting Christ before those who do not know him, especially the young; and for the last two years I have been a teacher in a Sunday-school, and have found it a blessed work indeed to lead the little ones to Jesus.”

Procrastination.

How many thousands have had bitter cause to regret the putting off until tomorrow, that which might and should be done today. A Greek nobleman, many centuries ago, was interrupted in the midst of a gorgeous festival, by the unwelcome intrusion of a messenger who had been sent to him by a friend with important tidings. He had been told to say that the missive he brought should be read by the nobleman immediately, as it contained information seriously affecting him, and of such pressing consequence as to admit of no delay. The nobleman, absorbed in his pleasures, and annoyed by the interruption, refused to listen to the messenger. “Serious things tomorrow!” he exclaimed, as he contemptuously cast aside the letter, and taking the goblet from the hand of his slave, pursued his amusements. The delay was fatal. His pleasures had not reached their height, when a body of conspirators rushed in and slew him! The letter had been sent to warn him of a plot against his life, and had he but opened and read it, he would have escaped a sudden and painful death. His folly but faintly resembles that of all who, knowing that “it is appointed unto men once to die, and after this the JUDGMENT,” put off from day to day, from now till then, from time to eternity — as, alas! in result it often proves — the solemn, earnest consideration of the great and all-important question, “What thinkest thou of Christ?”

Reader, are you guilty of this folly? The nobleman lost his life, but you, unless you can be persuaded to open the letter — God’s word, the Bible — and there read and meditate upon the doom denounced against all who believe not in the Lord Jesus Christ unto everlasting life, will lose your undying soul. “And what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?” “Tomorrow” may be too late. “Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, NOW is the day of salvation.” “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,” but “He that believeth not shall be damned.”

The Rejected Life Boat;

Or, The Self-Destroyed.

FOR several days the sky had been threatening a storm, and vessels of all sizes had retreated into harbor in anticipation of what sailors call “foul weather.” Those anticipations proved correct, and as night closed in the wind rose to a hurricane, the waves lifted their storm-capped crests and fell in foam upon the beach, or leaped furiously over the sea-wall as if in mockery of man’s puny attempts to say to them, “Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed.” No ship was in the offing, but the life-boat had been got into readiness in case of need, the coast-guard kept a sharp look-out through the murky night for any unfortunate vessel which might be driven landward, and a few spectators, muffled in their storm-cloaks, stood together on the shore.

Hour after hour passed away. The crew of the life-boat stood by their little craft, ready at a moment’s notice to launch her in the face of the tempest.

The old church clock of a neighboring seaport town struck twelve. As the last stroke of the bell mingled with the howling of the blast and the incessant thunder of the waves upon the strand, another and a different sound broke upon the ear. What was it? The boom of a heavy gun —the ominous and too well-known signal of some ship’s deep peril — a signal never made by British sailors till all other hope is gone — an appeal to fellow-men for aid, which tells that everything that experience, skill, and courage could effect has failed to save, and that, now, abandoned to winds and waves, the ship and her crew are hurrying to destruction, and MUST perish unless help from without, help outside, beyond, independent of themselves, can be brought to them by those who hear the sad appeal.

Has the reader yet discovered that this exactly depicts his condition by nature? That no efforts of his own, however well meant and carefully conducted, can deliver him out of the ruin he is in, or save him from that eternal destruction towards which time, with resistless force, is hurrying him? Oh solemn thought! Every hour, like a heavy wave against which no skill of yours can avail, is forcing you onward to the hidden shoal, the unseen moment when body and soul shall part asunder, and when, if still in your sins, you must make eternal shipwreck! “For it is appointed unto men once to die, and after this the judgment.”

Be intreated to consider your position. Was it for this you were born into the world and had a parent’s love and care and guidance? Was it for this you grew up to man’s or woman’s estate? To be ETERNALLY WRECKED AT LAST! God forbid that such an end should be yours. Consider all that it involves, and may God give you repentance unto life before it be too late. The decisive moment may be nearer than you think. Cease then at once your vain efforts at self-deliverance. Own to the ruin you are in, like the publican in the temple, who cried, “God be propitiated to me a sinner;” like his let your eye be on the PROPITIATION and nothing else, and you shall be justified. “For the grace of God, which carries with it salvation for all men, hath appeared;” why then should you be wrecked forever and ever The signal-gun, as if with electric force, started into activity the silent stationary groups upon the beach. Every hand was put forth to launch the life-boat, her gallant crew sprang in, and, with might and main, they struggled on through the driving surf towards the sinking ship. Again and again the heavy gun was heard in solemn cadence with the thundering storm, as though to hasten the bold deliverers in their dangerous task; and bravely they responded, as with desperate energy they drove their boat against the furious blast. Now on the crest of a mountainous wave,

“They mount up to the heaven;”

and anon in the watery abyss,

“They go down again to the depths;”

but at last their courage and prowess are rewarded, and they reach the wreck. A crowd of terror-stricken women and children, and worn, pale, hopeless men throng the deck. The ship is breaking fast, and wave after wave beats pitilessly against her groaning timbers. But despair turns to hope as the life-boat dashes up alongside, and all are about to rush towards her, when the captain, maddened by drink, suddenly places himself before them, and, in a voice of thunder, swears to shoot the first person who shall attempt to leave the ship!

Consternation seized on all who heard the threat, and for the moment none knew what to do. But no time was to be lost, and in the desperate emergency one on board, at the risk of his own life, approached the madman, and resolutely told him that if he dared discharge his revolver he should instantly be made a prisoner; and as this proved a momentary check upon him, no time was lost in getting the women and children off the doomed vessel. Not until the life-boat had made some three or four journeys from the ship to the shore was the final rescue of the crew and passengers effected. But the captain still remained. In vain did the brave deliverers urge him to escape. In vain they reasoned with and besought him, while the ship yet held together, to come into the lifeboat. In vain they pointed out the shattered condition of the wreck he was upon, while the rushing tempest threatened every moment to engulph both it and him. He would not listen; but, madly pointing his revolver at them, swore with terrible oaths to shoot the first man who approached him. Four times in succession these devoted men returned to attempt his rescue, but in vain. He would not be saved!

Reader, are you like him? “As though God did beseech by us, we pray in Christ’s stead, be reconciled to God.” The LIFE-BOAT is at hand. “This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” Life through his death may be yours, even now, if you do but believe in his name. His blood cleanseth from ALL sin. He says, “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Why should you perish?

The crew of the life-boat, exhausted by their incessant labors, were at last forbidden by their commanding officer to make any further effort to save the wretched man; but rockets, with ropes attached, were sent off to the ship, in the faint hope that when the peril grew nearer he would repent of his mad resolve. Twice with his own hand he cut the line that formed the only link between himself and life and safety; and while the wondering spectators on shore yet watched in mingled awe and pity, a larger wave than usual seemed to strike the wreck. A moment more, and the dark object that had so intensely attracted every eye suddenly fell to pieces. At the same instant a loud, piercing, and most bitter cry of unutterable agony and horror rose above the roar of the storm from the frenzied lips of the doomed man; and the SELF-DESTROYED sank headlong into the dark abyss of waters.

Too late he saw the fearful consequences of his madness as the shattered vessel fell away death his feet. Too late! He had flung away body and soul; and could he have had his will he would not have been alone in the destruction he brought upon himself.

It is seldom that such an instance as the above comes under our notice; but if the reader is yet out of Christ, if he is yet in the shattered wreck of the old Adam nature and standing, his peril is as great, though it may not be so apparent, as was that of the poor drunken captain of the foundered vessel. And if, after having heard the Gospel of the grace of God again and again, salvation brought nigh time after time, you are still a rejector, your folly is as extreme, and your doom as certain. Persist not in your mad rejection of the only Lifeboat till too late! Who shall tell what the lost spirit feels as it parts from the body on the death bed, when too late all the horrors of its real situation rush like a torrent upon it? No cry is heard, but in voiceless agony more terrible far than the frenzied wail of the doomed captain, it hurries where “their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.” Who shall depict, or even conceive the horror of its situation? Is there no hope there? None forever and ever.

Reader, can you continue a REJECTOR OF CITRIST, to be hereafter, and forever, numbered among the SELF-DESTROYED?

The Rescued Child.

(For the Little Ones.)

BESIDE the river Ouse, near the village of H —, stands a water-mill, adjoining which is a large meadow, and as a railway runs through it, it is a very attractive spot to most of the children in the locality, especially through the summer season.

Not many years ago a little girl named Mary was staying at the adjoining village of H— A—, on a visit. One fine afternoon two of her cousins, the elder of whom was about her own age, while her brother was some three or four years younger, proposed a walk to see the trains, and the three set out accordingly. After they had spent some time in the meadow they proceeded to the river side, and as soon as Mary’s elder cousin espied a boat chained to a tree, she jumped into it, and invited her to follow. At first she refused, for, unlike her relative, she was not accustomed to such things; but upon being urged she gave a spring, when from some cause or other the vessel moved from the river’s brink, and in an instant, she was in the water, and clinging to the boat’s side with agonized grasp. Her screams for help were lost in the noise caused by the large wheel of the mill, and the dashing of the foaming waters; her cousin endeavored with all her might to get her into the vessel, and finding her efforts fruitless became almost frantic with terror; the little boy had not sufficient presence of mind to run to the mill for assistance, and had not a gentleman, who providentially was passing at the time, seized the boat with his walking-stick, drawn it to the bank, and lifted her out of the river, she must inevitably have perished. After “the rescued child.” had been admonished by her kind deliverer, for whom she still retains the deepest affection, she was hurried to the home of her cousins, where receiving every possible attention, she soon recovered from the shock of the accident which had befallen her.

And now, dear young readers, would you learn a lesson from the above, imagine poor Mary’s jeopardy, her inability to deliver herself from it, and the certain death which had been hers had not timely help arrived; and then remember that as far as it is possible to compare the things of time with those of eternity, you have a picture of your own condition to the very life. For should you grow up to become men and women without Christ, guilty sinners, surrounded by the dismal and appalling waters of death and judgment, you will, unless delivered therefrom, sink into “the blackness of darkness forever,” into the waves of “everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels,” where there is “wailing and gnashing of teeth.” Oh terrible portion, the portion of all who die in their sins, and who, in spite of the warnings of love and the pleadings of mercy, deliberately and madly hasten thereto.

But, blessed be God, there is a way of escape, and it is through Jesus, and Jesus ALONE. Be not deceived as to this. Your cries and efforts, hover great, your sense of sin and danger, however deep, can no more save nor help to save you, than poor Mary’s shrieks and struggles could either get or help to get her out of the water. No, she owed her deliverance to another, and in no wise to HERSELF. And if pity led her deliverer to the place where she was, infinite love brought the Saviour into this sinful and ruined world to seek and save those who were “without strength” to save themselves. And because there was no way whereby this could be affected but by his sin-atoning death, he was “lifted up from the earth,” “that whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have eternal life.” And now, Christ crucified for our sins, and raised “again the third day according to the Scriptures,” is the beginning, the center, and the end of the gospel message; and “it is the power of God unto salvation to every-one that believeth.” O dear readers,

“Deeply sunk in sin’s abyss,”

listen to the words of him who in boundless love was sent to rescue sinners from their perilous state. He is “mighty to save,” and you have nothing to do but, like Mary, to relinquish the hold of that to which you are vainly clinging, and look to him; you will then realize “the everlasting arms” of love and mercy lifting you out of your sad condition, fear and terror will cease, and believing “the testimony of God,” you will pass “from death unto life.”

And has not the story of “The Rescued Child,” a voice for those beloved readers who have been drawn to the Saviour by the sweet constraining power of his love? Assuredly it has, and I sincerely hope that, like her of whom I have written, they will cultivate the deepest affection for their great and gracious Deliverer, and by hiding his word in their hearts, be kept from falling into any form of that from which they have been so mercifully and powerfully delivered.

The Rescued Lamb.

(For the Lambs of Jesus Fold.)

FOR several successive years the writer has had occasion to spend a day in the autumn at the village of C—, and on one of his journeys thither he witnessed one of those little incidents which so often afford instruction to sober, reflective minds.

While the vehicle in which he rode was slowly passing through an open field, the driver, pulling up, called his attention to two laborers who were busily engaged in trying to get a lamb out of a pond, into which, by some means or other, it had fallen. As, in consequence of the dry season, the pond, though deep in mud, had scarcely any water in it, the men had a difficult task; and before they succeeded, it was painful to hear the bleating’s of the lamb, and to witness its struggles. When at last it was brought to the pond’s mouth, it cut a very sorry figure; and, after shaking the mire from what should have been its white coat, it bounded away from the scene of its disaster, as though it was determined not to have a second fall.

Its forlorn and filthy appearance seemed to alarm its companions; for they fled from it as though it were an enemy, and though, when the writer returned in the evening, its condition was somewhat improved, it was still grazing alone.

Little believers, learn from this short story to “watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.” From the moment that you were delivered “from the power of darkness,” and translated into “the kingdom of God’s dear Son,” you have been the objects of Satan’s constant malice, and though he cannot pluck you out of the Father’s hand, nor deprive you of the “eternal life” which “the Good Shepherd” has given you, he leaves no stone unturned to allure you into sin; and the flesh within, and the world without, are the instruments he uses to affect his diabolical purpose. Let this solemn truth make you sober and vigilant; and remember that you are only safe from “the wiles of the devil” as you dwell “in the secret place of the Most High,” and “abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”

From henceforth may you walk softly and humbly; never forget that the word of God asserts that there is a principle within you, the tendency of which is to continual departure from the Lord. In order that you may be proof against all the dangers to which you are exposed, let your minds be preoccupied by Christ, your hearts filled with contemplations of his grace and love, and your souls hold constant and undisturbed communion with your heavenly Father. In this way you will be kept “from fleshly lusts which war against the soul;” and while enjoying solid peace and true happiness, you will have power to manifest in all your ways and walk a more faithful exhibition of the truth, and of the Divine life.

“But, gracious Lord, when we reflect

How oft we ‘ye turned the eye from thee,

How treated thee with proud neglect,

And listened to the enemy;

And yet to find thee still the same —

‘Tis this that humbles us with shame.

“Astonished at thy feet we fall,

Thy love exceeds our highest thought;

Henceforth be thou our all in all,

Thou who our souls with blood hast bought:

May we henceforth more faithful prove,

And ne’er forget thy ceaseless love.”

The Rock in the Wilderness.

(A Fragment.)

Isaiah 32:2.

IN the year 1831 no less than from fifteen to twenty thousand people were destroyed in Bala-sore district, India, by the tempests of October. The ships on the coast were some of them thrown upon the shore by the breaking in of the sea, and afterward left dry. Almost everything, animal and vegetable, was swept away by the wild tornadoes to inevitable destruction. In vain were banks and ancient boundaries opposed to the wide-spreading waters, urged on by the tremendous whirlwind which raged. Oh, how sweet would then have been a covert from the tempest!

The next year’s storm, equally dreadful, destroyed every house in the town: not one escaped without injury. The judge’s house, though the strongest and best, withstood not the terrible hurricane. “Men’s hearts failing for fear, the sea and the waves thereof roaring.”

Next to water and food, there is nothing like shade. How it refreshes the weary pilgrim! Seldom do we find in Orissa such a shade as the “shadow of a great rock;” the deep shade of a venerable tree, whose tough branches have borne storms of a century, afford nevertheless an inviting retreat from the broiling influence of the sun. This passage always recurs to my mind when sitting in the much desired recess. Often whilst sitting under some shade, surrounded by the naked barbarians of these deep jungles, I thought myself as happy as any man could be. Let those who know the power and blessedness of the heavenly Rock repose in its shadow, secure from any tempest.

Rosina, the Dying Orphan.

(For Little Ones.)

ROSINA was an orphan; that is, a child whose father and mother were both dead. What a sad thing it must be for a poor little one to have neither father nor mother living, to love and care for it! and how thankful the little reader ought to be if he or she has both parents still left to watch over and protect, to cherish and provide for them. Little Rosina had neither: but stay, — she had a Father, and such a Father as none can know but those who have been washed in the blood of Jesus; a Father who can never die, whose care for his children can never cease, whose love is infinite, whose watchfulness never tires, whose power to protect is almighty, who cherishes with an infinite wisdom, and provides with infinite grace. Such was Rosina’s Father; and she was his child by faith in Christ Jesus. Now, can the little reader say he has such a Father?

Rosina loved her Father because he first loved her, and by his own grace brought her to the knowledge of himself through belief in Jesus Christ the Saviour of sinners. For even little children are sinners, and Rosina having been led to see this, turned to Jesus, and believed in that blood which puts away sin, and makes those who trust to it, and nothing else, clean every whit in the sight of God. Rosina, therefore, was a Christian; and being so could look up to heaven and say, “God is my Father, and I am his child forever and ever.” Can the little reader say this? The Good Shepherd, whoever watches over his sheep and takes especial care of the lambs of his flock, had placed this little one under the protection of some of his servants who were missionaries in the land of America, where Rosina was born. Thus you see how graciously the Lord provided for her; so that although she had lost her earthly parents, she was not left without earthly friends, and friends too who were able to teach her more about Jesus than perhaps her parents could have done; friends who, for the Lord’s sake, were kind to her, and supplied her every want. She had also a grandmother, but she, alas! was quite a stranger to Jesus. She could not call God her Father, nor the Lord Jesus her Shepherd. She knew nothing of either, and if Rosina had been left to her care, she would never have heard from her lips anything about Christ. How kind it was therefore of the Lord to place this little one under the care of those who knew and loved him, and so could speak about him to the little orphan, and lead her on to know and love him more and more. Rosina was sorry that her grandmother did not know the Lord, for all who love him long to see others do so too. The poor old woman often heard about Christ from the missionaries, but her heart was hard, and she took no heed.

At last, the time came when Rosina was to go home. Her Father’s house was far away, far from the world which, but for the Good. Shepherd’s care, would have been a cold place indeed for the lonely orphan. In the Father’s house there are many mansions, and Christ had prepared a place even for her, as well as for all who believe in his name. When the time came for the little orphan to leave this world, she was taken ill. Now it is a painful thing to be ill, especially to little children, for they love to enjoy the bright sunshine, the birds, the flowers, and all those other beautiful things which a good and gracious God has created.

Yet Rosina did not mind about her illness, for she knew that her Father’s home was far better than the brightest scenes in this world. She knew that

“There is a happy land,

Far, far away,”

and though she loved the sunshine, she loved “the light” of that “happy land” very much more; for she knew that the Lamb is the light thereof; and He was dearer to her than the brightest sunbeams that ever played upon the green grass or the silver lakes of her native land. But though she was glad to go home, there was just one thing that troubled her, and that was the state of her poor grandmother. She wanted to see her brought to Jesus, before she went away to her happy home. The poor old woman loved her little grandchild, for she was all that was left to her in the world; and when she saw that she too was dying, and felt how lonely she should soon be, it grieved her deeply. Perhaps she had loved her grandchild too much, and had suffered her love for her to close her heart against that gospel which she had so often heard. It may be that the Lord saw this, and so allowed this sorrow to come upon her for her everlasting good. Be this as it may, it proved a greater blessing to her than she could have at all expected. Often she sat watching over her little orphan Rosina, and no doubt she often wept as she saw how rapidly the disease was running on, and how soon they must part. Conscience may have told her, too, that the parting would be forever. At last, one night, little Rosina said to her, “Dear grandmother, I am cleansed in my Saviour’s blood, and shall now soon go to him. If ever you wish to see me again, seek to be likewise washed and saved from your sins by the blood of Christ, that you may become as happy as I am. Dear grandmother, do go to Jesus, or you will never be with the Lord, and we shall never meet again.” This short, but simple speech from her dying Rosina touched the heart of the poor old grandmother. Never to meet again was a dreadful thought indeed to her, and her love for the little orphan child awoke an anxiety which the Lord deepened through the work of his Spirit, so that she became greatly concerned about her soul. A very few hours after she had thus spoken, Rosina fell asleep in the Lord, and the poor old grandmother was left alone in the world. But the Lord was gracious to her; and though he had taken her little grandchild, he gave her that which was far better; for he left her not until he had brought her to himself, and given her everlasting life through faith in his own blood. Thus the words of a dying child were made the means in the Lord’s hands of reaching a heart that had been long closed against him. The loss of her grandchild became eternal gain to the lonely old woman; her sorrow was turned into everlasting joy; and when, after a few more years had been passed in the wilderness, her own time came to depart and be with Christ, which is far better, think you not, dear little reader, that she had cause to praise the Lord for his goodness in hang made the little orphan Rosina such a blessing to her?

Little Rosina is in heaven now. Would you like to join her? If so, read again what she said to her grandmother just before she died; and if you have not yet believed in Jesus, do as the little orphan said, and then you too shall go where she is gone, and like her be happy,

“Forever with the Lord.”

Saved by Grace.

(For the Little Ones.)

HAS the little reader ever taken notice of the words that are stamped upon the shillings and sixpences which he may sometimes have had in his hands?

Perhaps he has, but may not have understood their meaning. The words referred to are “Dei Gratia.” These are Latin words, and mean “By the grace of God.” Now it happened one day that an English officer, when in battle, was struck by a spent ball. He felt the blow, and expected to find a serious wound; but, to his surprise, he was quite uninjured. On looking more closely, he found that the deadly missile had struck against a silver coin, which happened to be in his waistcoat pocket, and the hard silver, like a piece of armor, had prevented the ball from going any further Thus the silver coin probably saved his life. He had a godly sister, and she had taken care that he should: not be altogether ignorant of truth. No doubt she had often prayed for him too. Perhaps he thought so; but at any rate he felt that it was to God’s mercy that he owed his safety. While turning the coin over in his fingers, he observed that it was marked by the ball at the words “Dei Gratia,” as if even the bullet would teach him that it was “by the grace of God” that his life was spared. This aroused serious reflections, as it well might. It made him think; and the more he thought about it, the more he saw of “the grace of God.” Then he remembered how his sister had given him a tract before leaving home. He had never cared to read it before, but now he took it up, and “by the grace of God” was led to Christ, and became a believer in him.

Does the little believer ever pray for his friends and relations? If he has never done so before, let him begin now at once, and continue daily to pray for all those whom he knows to be ignorant of Christ, until he hears that “by the grace of God” his prayers have been answered. And if the little reader be an unbeliever, may he never look upon a silver coin without remembering those precious words, “THE GRACE OF GOD.” No tongue can tell, no heart can fully understand, all that is contained in them. Eternity will never exhaust the blessed theme; for what has not been done for sinners “by the grace of God”? “By grace are ye saved, through faith.” May every such little reader be brought to Jesus, and then even in the glory he will joy to tell how he was saved forever “by the grace of God.”

The Saviour's Coming.

“The Lord himself shall descend with a shout.”―1 Thess. 4:16.

THE Saviour is coming,

The moment is near;

The bright Star of Morning

Will quickly appear.

Then will his beloved ones

With swiftness arise,

And meet their blest Saviour,

With joy, in the skies.

With him they together

To heaven will go,

Where rivers of pleasure

And peace ever flow.

They’ll shine in the likeness

Of him whom they love,

And dwell in the brightness

Of glory above.

Who now trust the Saviour,

The Sent One of God,

Are cleansed and forgiven

Through his precious blood;

And when all in heaven,

To praise him, shall throng,

Each one who here loved him

Will join in the song.

Scenes from Real Life.

IT pleased God to bless the preaching of his word in a manufacturing village, not far distant from the place where I resided; and whilst many souls were awakened to eternal concerns, some few were brought savingly to realize the value of the work of Christ. Connected with this movement, there came before me an incident of no little interest. A young man was taken seriously ill. He was a fine-looking youth, about nineteen years of age, of steady moral habits, and a great comfort to his parents. He had taken a violent cold, accompanied by fever. After being confined to the house a fortnight, he was able to go out a little for fresh air. It was early in the year, and the wind was piercing and cold. Whether he was too lightly clad for the season, or was premature in exposing himself, would be useless to speculate upon; but he returned to the house, complaining of being chilled and shivering. He retired to bed early, but was attacked by violent pain in the abdomen, which was followed by confirmed inflammation of the bowels.

His sufferings were most acute. Prompt remedies afforded no relief. His parents sought comfort in prayer; and a precious sight it was, to see the poor father earnestly entreating God’s mercy on behalf of the soul of his child, who, until lately, had been unconcerned about his own. Others, too, of his acquaintance united in supplication and sympathy. I saw him after his medical attendant had given up all hopes of his recovery, and. I found him ready to listen to anything I could bring before him. He was all eagerness to realize the blessing of sins forgiven, and but a very short way from the kingdom of heaven in that respect.

On appealing to him, after some minutes’ conversation, as to whether he had understood me, his answer was conveyed in striking yet intelligible language. I think, he said, “I am much in the same fashion as you have described.” We united in prayer, and parted.

Two days afterward his end approached. The sun shone in at the window, on which his eyes were so shortly to close. His father, mother, and grandmother stood weeping around him. Two or three Christian friends were also there. After much suffering and prostration, he rather suddenly exclaimed, “I think I shall soon be off,” and he looked to his mother particularly. She, poor thing, could scarcely contain for weeping. “Ah,” she said, (using the dialect of her neighborhood,) “it goes hard to part with thee. Thou’rt a grand lad.” “Mother,” he said, “the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; and you must say, Blessed be the name of the Lord.” Turning to his grandmother he said, “I have always loved thee, and thou hast loved me; but I fear thou art not concerned about thy soul as thou shouldst be. Promise me thou wilt go with my father to hear the gospel where he goes. I should like us all to meet in heaven.” He looked at his father earnestly and affectionately; held out his hand, and asked them all to shake it; then calmly bid each one good-bye, as if leaving for a visit in the country, stretched out his arms, calling upon the name of Jesus, and expired. Extracted.

The Sower.

“Behold, a sower went forth to sow,”

HAS the young reader ever seen a farm-laborer in the act of sowing seed? In these days, and in this, country, most farmers employ a machine called a drill, and drawn by a horse, so that one does not often see a man sowing “broadcast,” as it is termed. But in the land where that precious book, the Bible, was written, they still sow the seed with the hand, as they used to do in the days when our blessed Lord Jesus Christ spoke that parable, which you can read in the thirteenth chapter of Matthew, and which commences with the words, “Behold, a sower went forth to sow.”

The Lord himself was the great Sower, and the seed he sowed was the word of God. The world was the field in which he stood to sow, and the hearers were the furrows where the seed fell. But Christ came not to be the “Sower” only, but the Sacrifice also; and, “when he had by himself purged our sins, he sat down at the right hand of God.” And now every servant of his who goes forth in the power of the Spirit to preach the word, is a sower. The importance which our Lord attaches to this subject is marked in that word “Behold.” Well does he know the eternal consequences which hang upon this work; for the true sower is a “savor of life unto life, or of death unto death,” and both are everlasting.

“Behold a sower!” He shall be a witness for or against the living furrows in the last day. O young reader, your years cannot be many, yet your responsibilities may already be too numerous to count. Perhaps the very frequency with which you have “beheld” the sower, has taken away all sense of the importance of the opportunity; for you well know how little we value things that are common. When first a “sower goes forth to sow” in some far-off heathen land, where such sowers have never been seen before, the poor ignorant heathen are all attention; and even though too many may oppose, and perhaps persecute him, their very opposition proves that they are not indifferent. But in this favored land, thousands “behold” the sower, in the utter stagnation of habitual indifference — an indifference so complete, that they are even unconscious of it! Is this your case? The writer does not now address the “little ones” merely, but those who are some years older; old enough to give attention to what they hear, and to understand. Have you, when sitting by your parents in the congregation week after week, “beheld” the sower, while, as he scattered with unsparing hand the good seed of the word (God’s word, remember, and not man’s), idle thoughts, and wandering fancies, have flitted through your mind, until the very sound of the word became a dull monotony, that almost lulled you off to sleep? When next you sit death that sound, recall the words of the Lord Jesus Christ, “Behold a sower.” Remember who he is that uttered them, and that “God hath appointed a day, in the which he will judge the world in righteousness” by HIM, “whereof he hath given assurance unto all men, in that he hath raised him from the dead.” How solemn to be judged, instead of being saved, by him! And to be judged, too, for despising that precious blood, which he “shed for the remission of sins”! For the seed which the sower sows, contains the germ of eternal life, life through death; the death of Christ the Lamb of God, the Saviour of the world. And he who knows all the everlasting consequences belonging to the sowing of the seed, and involved in the receiving, or rejecting of it, said, “Behold a sower!” He said it in love, for he loves sinners. He said it in warning, for he knows our hearts. He says it with emphasis on that word “behold,” for he would rouse your attention.

Think of these things when you again sit down to listen where some servant of Christ has come forth to sow the never-dying seed of the word of God. Let these words of the Lord. Jesus Christ sound in your ears when next you hear the preaching of the Gospel of his grace, “BEHOLD A SOWER.”

The Strict Teacher and the Indifferent Mark.

MANY of my little readers, I doubt not, are accustomed to go to Sunday-schools, and I hope they make themselves well acquainted with their lessons, and occupy their places before the exercises of their schools commence, not only for the sake of receiving their tickets, but that confusion may be prevented and order preserved. When I was no older than yourselves I was a Sunday scholar, and it is about a little circumstance which then occurred that I purpose now to write.

The master of the day-school I attended was also the superintendent of the Sunday-school, and, as you are aware, it was his business to form the classes and appoint the teachers. Each of the latter was supplied with a card containing the names of those who composed his class; it was also ruled with square lines, at the top of which stood the respective days of the different months of the year; and in one of these squares a mark was weekly inserted, in order that it might be known who were absent, and in what manner those who were present acquitted themselves. The sign of addition (+) denoted the absentees; the sign of subtraction (—) indicated that the lessons had been well said; the sign of multiplication (x) that they had been badly rehearsed; and that of division (÷) that they had been but indifferently repeated. Every Monday morning the cards were fetched from the large room in which the Sunday-school was held, and as the names of the boys who had not good marks were read aloud, they responded there and rose to their feet. A flogging was then given to those whose bad marks condemned them; and even those who had but indifferent ones did not often escape a milder punishment. This being the case, you will not be surprised to learn that Monday morning was a time from which most of us shrank, and that some of those who knew they had not good marks begged their parents to keep them at home. But if they were allowed to do so, it did but postpone the chastisement, for the next time they came to school, the dreaded punishment was sure to be inflicted.

The class to which I belonged was taught by several persons in succession, and one of them was so very particular that he acquired the name of “The Strict Teacher.” Very few of the class obtained good marks when he taught it; and on the occasion to which my story owes its rise, he gave me an indifferent one for calling a singular noun plural while repeating the first twenty verses of the second chapter of the Gospel by Luke. I was very unhappy the rest of the day, and after passing a restless night, I went to school with a heavy heart. When the cards were read as usual, my master expressed his surprise at the mark I had received, and in a loud and angry tone demanded an explanation. Bursting into tears I assured him that I only made one mistake in my lesson, and that was by adding s to the word field; and this being confirmed by some of my school-fellows, he not only forgave me, but, erasing the pencil dots with a piece of India rubber, turned “the indifferent mark” into a good one.

Now, my young friends, have you ever thought of the number of marks which God has against you because of your sins, and that unless they are all forgiven, you can never stand before him without fear? His eyes have seen your foolish thoughts and wicked ways; his ears have heard your sinful words; but more prominent than any other stands one mark of a peculiar character — one of a deeper shade and blacker hue than all the rest put tether, and that is the sin of unbelief. For, young as you are, when you have heard of the love of God in the gift of Jesus; of the love of the Saviour in dying for sinners; and of his willingness to save the youngest child that will receive him, you have, by not believing the record that he hath given of his Son, made God a liar. This is indeed fearful, and when you remember that God is so holy that he can neither excuse sin nor allow it to pass unpunished, you must perceive that your position is truly solemn; and I write thus plainly that, if it please the Lord, I may be the means in his hands of leading you to understand it. True it is that all your sins may be forgiven; yea, every one of them would be forgiven this moment if you were to believe in Christ. But, alas! him you reject; consequently you are exposed to the wrath of him who is “of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.”

Should, however, any of my little readers be unhappy about their sins, and anxious to know the way whereby they can be delivered therefrom, I would affectionately remind them of that blessed One whose precious blood was shed to make an atonement for sin, and to bring us nigh to God, “holy and without blame before him in love.” It was an easy thing to erase the dots from “the indifferent mark” which “the strict teacher” had given me, though it might be doubted whether my master was right in doing so; but while no tongue can tell what the Saviour endured when he bare the wrath due to sin, and what it cost Him to pay the dreadful score which was against us, none can say that God is unrighteous in forgiving sin and pardoning sinners, since all the claims of holiness and the demands of justice have been once and forever met and satisfied by him “who was delivered for our offenses, and was raised again for our justification.” Grace now reigns “through righteousness unto eternal life by Jesus Christ our Lord;” “the blood of the Lamb” is a perfect remedy for all sin — whether great or little; and while it is all-sufficient for the former, it is also needed for the latter. Yes; God is so infinitely holy that not the least particle of sin can be allowed in his presence; and if he were to contend with you about your iniquities, you could not “answer him one of a thousand.” But he is so infinitely gracious, that you, dear readers, are as welcome to him and to all the blessings which he has to bestow, as you are free to breathe the air or to enjoy the cheering rays of the sun. Come then, and taste how good and how gracious the Lord is. Receive Christ, that gracious one, who is.as full of love and grace as ever, and your sins and iniquities shall be remembered no more. Instead of dreading the frown of an angry and a sin-hating God, you shall walk in the light of his countenance — every charge against you gone, and not a single mark or stain of sin upon you — and enjoy his “everlasting love,” not only now, but in the bright region of unfailing and “eternal glory.”

"Take Heed What Thou Doest."

A poor miserable woman, addicted to drunkenness and other vices, was wandering the streets of London one evening without aim or purpose, when she saw a church door open, and, hardly knowing what she did, entered and sat down. The preacher at that moment was commenting on the words, “Take heed what thou doest.” The words fell upon her ear unheeded, and when the sermon was over she left as she had come. She still continued her wicked course, and still found, as sinners ever find sooner or later, that “the way of transgressors is hard.” Driven at last to desperation by accumulated miseries, she resolved to destroy herself. For this purpose she went to Black-friars Bridge, and descended the stairs. She reached the lowest step, the deep waters lay outstretched before her, the midnight lamps glimmered on their dark surface. Despair was in her heart, a death-like silence reigned around, there was no human eye to see or pity, no human arm to save. Untying her bonnet with hurried, nervous fingers, she was about to plunge into the dark river, when suddenly, as though a voice from heaven spoke, she heard in the depths of her soul those solemn words, “TAKE HEED WHAT THOU DOEST!” Instantly the tempter’s power was broken, horror at her own intention seized upon her spirit; and rushing up the steps, shuddering as she went, she hastened home. Anguish of heart and a ruined constitution there laid her on her deathbed. Her past life rose in terrible blackness before her. ETERNITY, eternity with all its tremendous consequences, pressed upon her soul, and a long-neglected Bible did at first but deepen her convictions. At length a Christian visitor was sent to point her to the Saviour of sinners. “Is it of any use for me to hope for pardon?” asked the dying sinner. “It is,” replied the visitor, and opening the New Testament, that precious record of a Saviour’s love, read “This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief.” “The blood of Jesus Christ his son cleanseth from ALL sin.” “He that believeth on the Son of God. Hath everlasting life.” “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou SHALT be saved.” “Come unto ME, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” She began to hope, she called upon the Lord for power to believe, and in a little while light broke in upon her soul. Taking God at his word about his dear Son, her dread and terror vanished, and she got settled peace. Like the poor sinner in Luke 7, having had “much forgiven,” “she loved much,” and her dying hours were occupied in tearful praises to him who had snatched her as “a brand from the burning,” and in testifying to that precious grace which would not let her perish in her sins. Dear reader, it may be that you are one of those who have never, even in thought, approached the depth of iniquity in which this poor sinner wallowed. Moral, amiable, probably religious, you shudder at the thought of such defilement; and yet, unless you are washed from your sins in the blood of Christ, through faith in him, you will perish everlastingly, in spite of your religiousness, morality, and uprightness; while the poor harlot will shine a trophy of redeeming love forever and ever in the light of the presence of God and the Lamb!

"The Flower Fadeth"

(For Young and Old.)

How many little green-grown mounds and small stone monuments dot our old churchyards and cemeteries how many a sorrowful remembrance lingers round them! In how many aching hearts the echo of a sweet voice now hushed in death is heard, there where no other ear can hear it, and the vision of a form so loved and loveable is seen where no other eye can see it!

There, if anywhere, the opened eat may hear the solemn words,

“The grass withereth, the flower fadeth,”

But who shall tell how many a tale of love divine and sovereign grace for parents those little graves shut in from mortal eyes and human ken, until that day when all shall be told out to swell the torrent of eternal praise

“To him who loved us, gave himself,

And died to do us good.”

Yes. There is a tale of grace attached to many a little tomb. As the Irish proverb beautifully expresses it, “Every cloud has a silver lining.” Broken hearts and shattered hopes may have fallen with the “earth to earth, and dust to dust “that rattled on the little bier, but the longing eyes turned heavenward vainly looking for the lost one have caught a view of him who said, “Come unto me all ye that... are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,” and one look was life. Or where faith in him was already the blessed portion of the sorrowing parents, their loss has proved their gain, and drawn them closer to his heart of sympathy and love. And in any and every case a little lamb is folded in eternal safety, secure forever from the sins and sorrows, snares and storms of “this present evil world”— happy thought to those who know its abounding iniquity!

In St. Katherine’s churchyard, Northampton, stands a little stone monument on the top of which is sculptured horizontally, a light cross (representing probably, the pole on which Moses raised the brazen serpent), encircled by a scroll in bold relief, inscribed by those most precious words, “Peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Around the base of the tomb is carved the name and age and day of decease of her in whose dear memory it is raised, and beneath it sleeps the little form of one of home’s faded flowers, one of the early folded lambs of the flock, waiting through the “little while” for that blissful moment when the trumpet shall sound and the dead in Christ be raised, and we, changed and caught up together with them in the clouds, shall meet the Lord in the air, and so be forever with him and them in eternal light and joy.

Liza Amatola W―was born on the 8th of February, 1856, at Fort Cox, a military post in the heart of the Amatola mountains, in British Kaffraria, Cape Colony. Her father’s brother officers were wont to call her “the Little Amatola,” and so that name was given her in memory of them and of the place where she was born. At four years of age, her father having gone on military duty to China, she was brought by her mamma to England, a healthy, happy little one, enjoying life as children only can, the one little joyous companion of her much-loved mother, making sunlight for her by sea and land through all the long and weary way from the wild mountains of Kaffraria to her English home. But within two short years, a sad, sad change had come over the life of dear little Liza, and the little flower from the far mountains of Amatola faded. Owing, as was supposed, to a fall in London, symptoms of that hopeless complaint, spinal disease, made their appearance, and poor Liza’s joyous days were gone.

Before two years had again passed away she was laid down to rise no more, compelled by the nature of her disorder to keep a recumbent position evermore until she died! Who shall measure the weariness of such an affliction to a child! One has often looked upon a little one running hither and thither about a house, and wondered how many miles it travels thus in a single day. But Liza was never more to know on earth the springy step, the bounding leap, the joyous race of childhood.! Intelligent beyond her years, surrounded from her cradle by “the pomp and circumstance of war,” and accustomed from her earliest days, whether at Fort Cox or Aldershot, to witness the prompt and rapid evolutions of regiments, and to hear the quick, sharp word of command given and instantly obeyed, — Liza, though so young, was naturally imperious and quick in word and deed. To one so constituted, the affliction was far heavier than to a child of opposite disposition, and if in the earlier part of her illness she sometimes displayed impatience, the little sufferer might well be excused, although after grace had touched her heart, she would not excuse herself. Time passed wearily away, and her sufferings increased. Often was she unable from pain even to sleep at night, and it became increasingly evident that there was no hope.

Her medical attendant having, in answer to a question anxiously put, declared she could not live, her sorrowing mother, herself a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, felt it was high time to speak closely and solemnly to her about her eternal future. She was now between ten and eleven years of age, and old enough, and sufficiently intelligent to understand her position fully. But it must have been a hard, hard trial to a mother’s heart to have to go to her child’s bedside, and, taking her little hand in hers, say, “Liza, dear, the doctor says that you must die!”

Poor little Liza! well might she weep, for life is sweet and hope is strong in the breast of a child, even though suffering as she suffered, and the thought of death most terrible. But when the first fresh anguish had passed away, she listened calmly to the precious truth of everlasting salvation through the blood of Christ alone, and as the tearful pleadings of her mother’s voice fell upon her ear, the Lord graciously owned the word. She felt she was a sinner. One by one the sins and offenses of her little life rose up before her, and were confessed to her mamma. As conviction deepened she became most wretched, earnestly asking whether she could be forgiven, and entreating with tears that her dear mother, so loved and trusted, would pray for her, — a request which it is hardly needful to say was granted, — how earnestly and bow often a Christian mother’s heart yearning over her dying child alone can understand. By day and night those pleadings went up to a throne of grace and were answered. A text of Scripture hung upon the wall — “THE BLOOD OF JESUS CHRIST, GOD’S SON, CLEANSETH ITS FROM ALL SIN.” To it the dying child was pointed, the Spirit of grace applied the word in power, and little Liza’s fears and dread of death all fled before the blessed light which broke in upon her soul. On going into her room shortly afterward, the glad words fell upon her mother’s ear, “Oh, I feel so peaceful and happy now! The load is all gone; I know and feel that my sins are all forgiven.”

“She gazed, and marked a wondrous change in that pure,

pallid face,

For peace on lips, and cheek, and brow had set a heavenly

trace;

And when the dear eye met her own no shadow lingered

there,

And her low, sweet voice had lost its tone of anxious fear

and care.”

And from that hour she had full assurance of entire forgiveness and everlasting life. Nor was that all. From that hour, too, an entire change was seen in little Liza. It was in allusion to this that she once said to her nurse, “I can no longer order you about as I used to do;” and then added, in a tone of entreaty instead of command, as formerly, “Do, like a good girl, do this for me.” So patient and so submissive, too, was she, that when on one occasion her intense sufferings were pityingly referred to, she said, “If my legs had not drawn up, I should not have gone to heaven! “Who shall tell the anguish that had drawn her little limbs into such a position — nearly to her chin or describe the submission thus expressed by a suffering child of not yet eleven years of age! What a lesson to older believers, and what comfort to the heart of her who was her daily teacher!

And now another sorrow came. Her dear mamma was laid aside herself, and compelled to keep her bed. But little Liza could not part from her while life remained; and every day she would be carried to her mother’s room and laid beside her on the bed to listen to her teachings, to learn little hymns, and to mingle her prayers with hers. Instead of the fear of death, she now desired “to depart and be with Christ.” The doctor having once said she “might live a month longer,” she exclaimed., “How cruel of him!” thinking a month far too long to stay, but on hearing another medical man shortly after say that he did not think she would live a week, she turned to her mamma, and smiling, said, “O mammy, only a week!” A Christian friend who visited her remarked how sorry she was to see her so changed. To this dear Liza, looking up with a lovely smile, exclaimed, “Oh it will not be for long. I am soon going home!”

Desiring to ascertain her condition, this lady inquired the ground of her confidence, to which Liza, pointing to the text of Scripture which hung upon the wall, as already stated, answered with an emphatic “THAT!”

“But,” said her friend, “all do not believe that. I know a gentleman who thinks that he can go to heaven by his own good works.”

The child instantly replied, “I wonder he is not afraid! I could not close my eyes nor take a step in the dark until I knew that I was safe and felt my sins were all forgiven!”

It would be well, perhaps, could the gentleman referred to see and consider this answer of a child of ten to his condition, whose sins, as compared with hers, are probably as a sea to a single raindrop.

Her dear mother’s daily teaching was greatly blessed to her, and her growth in grace was marked and rapid. One indication of this was in her choice of hymns.

Her first favorite was —

“Rock of ages cleft for me.”

but shortly afterwards it was —

“O how he loves!”

and then —

“O for a closer walk with God.”

On one occasion she remarked, “Mamma, I do try to be patient, because it will be doing SOMETHING for Jesus.” At another, when near the close of her little life on earth, having been enabled to obtain a few hours sleep under the influence of morphia (for her pain was such that sleep without it was impossible), she exclaimed, “Let us thank God forgiving me such ease. Read and pray.” On being asked what chapter she wished for, she turned to the Christian friend already mentioned, and replied, “That chapter you were speaking of, ‘We glory in tribulations also.’” Surely this was growth in a child so young, and in such terrible suffering. And when the reading was over, she clasped her little hands, and exclaimed, “PEACE! PEACE with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” In further conversation, the “free gift” having been mentioned, she remarked, “That was Jesus Christ, was it not? O how kind of God! I know I am safe. I cannot understand how you explain it as a debt; all I know is that I was very wicked, and felt very guilty, Now the burden of my sins is gone, and I feel light and at perfect peace with God. I do not know what heaven is like; but JESUS IS THERE, and I long to be with HIM.” Truly we may well exclaim, “Out of the mouths of babes and suckling’s thou hast perfected praise.” Jesus was there, and that was enough for her. A few days before her death she desired to partake of the Lord’s supper, and when some difficulty was raised on the score of her being so young, she thus expressed herself — “All believers have a RIGHT to partake of it. I feel that my sins are forgiven. I love Jesus and want to love him more, and I want to go and be with him forever.” Dear little lamb of Christ! Well would it be did all believers know and value their privileges as little Liza knew and valued them, by the blessing of the Lord on the teaching of her mother.

But now her hours were numbered, and the desire of her young heart was about to be accomplished. Two days before her death, at her own request, that hymn was sung, beginning —

“Now the dreary night is done.”

And the last she asked her dear mamma to sing was — “Rest for the weary.”

On Thursday afternoon, the 24th of January, 1867, she said to her mother, “Mammy, I will die tonight!” and so it proved. Later in the evening she sent, by her dear father, her last “Good-night” to her whom she loved beyond all on earth, and before mid-day of Friday, the 25th she had entered into rest!

“The little hand fell powerless; the spirit fled to dwell, —

Not in the cold damp gloomy grave it once had dreaded so,

But in the land whose dwellers death nor pain nor sorrow know.”

Her dying testimony and the sorrow of her loss were not in vain. They were made an everlasting blessing to one very near and dear to her; and thus another soul was saved, and the monument which covers her remains became not alone a monument to her memory, but also to the praise of the glory of his grace who wounded but to heal forever!

“And holy were the drops that fell on little Liza’s grave

Of chastened grief and thankfulness to him who died to save.”

For the reader, whether young or old, whether a believer or an unbeliever, there is surely more than one solemn lesson to be gathered from Liza’s little memoir. If unconcerned about your soul, and careless as to Christ, it utterly condemns you! She was but a child, yet “could not close her eyes nor take a step in the dark till she knew that she was safe, and felt her sins forgiven.” But perhaps you are anxious about your salvation, and earnestly desirous of forgiveness? See her little hand pointing to the wall, and hear her emphatic “THAT,” directing you where God declares “The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth from all sin.” Go in spirit and look upon her tomb, and there, surrounded by the silent dead, those precious words meet your eye engraved in stone, “Peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” O let them reach your heart, and be engraven there! receive them as God’s own words, and then, like little Liza, you may exclaim with joy, “PEACE — peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Or are you a believer bowed down with sorrow? A child’s voice whispers, “Try to be patient, because it will be doing something for Jesus.” Little Liza on the rack could “glory in tribulations,” triumphant in the happy thought, “Oh it will not be for long! I am soon going home.” And thither she is gone!

“Oh, she’s reached the sunny shore,

Over there!

She will never suffer more,

All her pain and grief is o’er,

Over there!

Oh, the streets are shining gold,

Over there!

And the glory is untold,

‘Tis our Shepherd’s peaceful fold,

Over there!

Oh, she feels no chilling blast,

Over there!

For her winter time is past,

And the summers always last,

Over there!

Oh, she’s done the weary fight,

Over there!

Jesus saved her by his might,

And she walks with him in white,

Over there!

Oh, she needs no lamp at night,

Over there!

For the day is always bright,

And the Saviour is her light,

Over there!

Oh, she never sheds a tear,

Over there!

For the Lord himself is near,

And to him she’s ever dear,

Over there!”

Thoughts About the Lord Jesus.

(For Little Ones.)

IF the young reader will turn to the Gospel of Luke, and read from verse twenty-two to the end of the eighth chapter, he will see in how many different ways the Lord Jesus showed his power and his compassion. First, we are told how he said to his disciples, “Let us go over unto the other side of the lake.” Now why do you suppose the blessed Lord wished to cross

“The blue waves of deep Galilee?”

Read on, and you will soon see what led him there. In the desolate places of Gadara there dwelt a wretched demoniac, that is, a person possessed by devils. Wicked spirits had taken up their abode in this man. A more fearful state it is perhaps impossible to be in in this world. It is Satan, you know, who tempts all, and leads men to commit all manner of crimes and wicked nesses. What, then, must it have been to be so completely in his power, and under his control, as this most wretched man? “There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked.” If this is true of wicked men, how much more of wicked spirits? But when wicked spirits took entire possession of the man, what horror must have filled his mind, what misery his heart, what madness his reeling brain! Who shall understand the midnight gloom, the awful dread of God, the terrible sense of evil, the deep, deep despair which must have filled his soul? Ah, little reader, this is a terrible picture; yet is it as nothing when compared with what awaits the sinner who dies in his sins, and therefore under the wrath of God. O fearful doom! who shall describe all that it involves? And how should the thought — a thought enough to make the most hardened shudder — stir us up to “beseech” the sinner, “to be reconciled to God,” the God of all grace, who, in his wondrous compassion, “spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all,” that so sinners might be saved from misery, far worse than that of the demoniac of Gadara and everlasting!

Well, the Lord Jesus knew that this most wretched man was there. He knew all his misery, and he wanted to deliver him; therefore he said, “Let us go.” Then we read how, as they went over the sea, a great storm arose, and that his disciples came to him while he slept, crying, “Master, master, we perish!” They did not understand that to perish with Christ in the ship was impossible. Could Christ perish? It seems shocking even to ask such a question. Well, but Christ was with them, and they with him: how then could they perish? No, they that have Christ, a risen Christ, now, can never perish. Blessed Jesus! thou art everlasting life to him that receives thee, life through death, our sin and sins forever put away by thy precious blood.

But the disciples thought they could perish, and Jesus pitied their agony of fear, and in a moment rose and hushed the storm by a word from his gracious lips. Should not the young believer learn from this that Jesus feels even for the fears of those who love him, even though he knows that those fears are vain? Nay, more than this. Those fears were really the effect of unbelief. Yet mere unbelief itself could not make the gracious heart of Jesus indifferent to their pain, nor cause him to turn a deaf ear to their cry. He arose, and rebuked the winds and the waves, first, and then he gently rebuked them. But how gently! and how kind it was not to rebuke them until after he had stilled the storm! These things are written to teach believers to confide in Jesus. Confidence in our gracious Lord has so much to do with communion as well as with all service, that it is of the last importance to us. And what a precious thought it is, that if in HIM we have ALMIGHTY GOD, we have also a man indeed, more tender-hearted than any man or woman that ever lived, more ready to sympathies, to pity, and to help, than the most affectionate of friends; loving with an everlasting love, whose breadth, length, depth, and height, surpasses knowledge.

(To be continued.)

Thoughts About the Lord Jesus.

(For the Little Ones.)

WHEN the Lord Jesus reached the other side of the stormy sea, the poor man we spoke about on the last occasion met him. In the fifth chapter of Mark (which you should read also in connection with the eighth of Luke), we are told that when this tormented man “saw Jesus afar off, he ran and worshipped him.” How wonderful I Could not a whole legion of devils keep the man away from the blessed Lord Jesus? No. A legion means a vast number; but great as was the number and the power of the devils that had taken up their abode in this man, they could not keep him from the gracious Saviour, who had evidently crossed the sea, through storm and calm, on purpose to deliver him. It was his gracious will which drew the wretched demoniac to his feet, and not all the will and power of the evil spirits within him could keep him back. And what an agony of fear the poor man is in as he is thus drawn by the unseen power of the Lord to meet him. What must have been his sense of his own unholy and awful state when thus constrained to face “the holy one of God!” Ah, little reader! what will it be for the sinner in his sins when the sea gives up the dead that are in it, and death and hades deliver up the dead which are in them, and he is compelled to face HIM who will then sit on the “Great white Throne!” How black by contrast, how unholy, how unclean! Where shall he hide his head? There will be no Saviour there, for the day of grace will have passed away forever and ever, and he who has refused to be saved by Christ must face the judgment. The deepest grave that man can dig, nay the deep, deep sea itself, shall not hide the guilty sinner then. You may see many a handsome monument in the churchyards, many a massive tomb whose weight of stone seems to press down the poor dust (once so rich in this world’s goods), as if it would not let It rise again. Yet it MUST come forth to judgment! even as when the Lord willed it, the poor demoniac must meet him face to face.

But this meeting was for mercy. Yes, the precious Saviour of sinners delights in mercy, and it will be the sinner’s own fault if ever he meets the Lord in judgment. Little reader, which will you choose now while you read, mercy or judgment? Think for a moment; the Lord Jesus delights in mercy. Did he not prove it when he crossed that stormy sea of Galilee to deliver one poor wretched man from a whole legion of devils? Did he not prove it more wondrously still when he went to Calvary, and there upon that dreadful cross, endured the wrath of God instead of sinners, poured out his precious blood for them, and, as he breathed out his blessed soul in death, cried, with a loud voice, “IT IS FINISHED!” And since he so delights in mercy, don’t you think it is too bad that many will not have it; but in spite of all that he has done, in spite of all the lovely ways in which he showed how dearly he delights to bless, they still go on to judgment? You will not imitate them, will you? No. Go then to Jesus now before you grow older and more hardened in sin. He will receive you and make you happy forever in his love, washing you from your sins in his own blood.

The demoniac cried out, even as he fell at Jesus’ feet, “What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God most high, I beseech thee torment me not.” Ah! he little knew with whom he had to do. “Torment,” indeed! The gentle, loving, gracious Saviour, so “meek and lowly in heart”— “torment?” No, he came to save, unasked by any one; nor should a whole legion of evil spirits, nor all that their malice could invent, hinder him. They made the wretched man utter those strange words; but even such hard words and harder thoughts could not defeat the loving purpose of the Lord. Oh what a scene it must have been to witness, as he, the pure and spotless Jesus, the all-perfect One, full of goodness, the holy, harmless, undefiled, stood there over the prostrate sinner, a sinner wholly under the power of devils, a raging madman, groaning out the hard, bitter thoughts of a heart that naturally hates God.; how much more when stirred to its utmost depths of evil by a whole legion of devils! But mercy awaited him, such mercy as he had never dreamed of. At a word from those gracious lips, the legion is driven out, and “clothed and in his right mind,” he is found sitting at the feet of his Great Deliverer. And as he gazed upward into his face, and thought of all the pity and compassion he had shown him, how his heart must have overflowed with gratitude and praise! How he must have loved his most loving Lord! And will not the little reader love him too? Does he not deserve it?

Well might the poor man “pray him that he might be with him.” Well might he grieve to be so soon parted from one who had proved his power and love for him so wondrously; and yet how many believers are there, little and big ones, too, who, although they have had far deeper proofs of the Lord’s love than the demoniac had then (for Jesus has since died and risen again for us), can go on, day after day, “careful and troubled about many things,” and neglecting the one thing so needful to Christians — that precious privilege of “walking and talking with Jesus by the way,” which he delights to have us enjoy! When you, little Christian, read the Lord’s word, then He is talking to you, and when you pray or praise, then you are talking to him. And the daily and hourly habit of doing this, in the Spirit, is very, very important. There is nothing like it. It keeps out evil thoughts; it calms the soul; it weans the heart from earthly hopes, wishes, desires; it sets the mind on things above, where Christ sitteth; for you know Christ is risen now, and communion with him is therefore communion with a risen Christ; it is practically taking his yoke upon you and learning of him, by which you get rest to your soul, because you get more and more like him who is meek and lowly in heart; in short, it is gazing up into the glory till your whole soul becomes filled with an abiding sense of it; and “changed from glory to glory,” you grow into the same image. And all this is possible to the youngest believer that ever lived, as well as to the oldest.

But Jesus was on earth when the poor man we are speaking about wanted to be with him. If he were on earth now, he could not be always with us, for even such a place as the sea of Galilee could separate us. What a blessing it is then, that Jesus is gone to heaven, is it not? Nothing can now separate us. No. Some little readers will see these words on the other side of the broad Atlantic; yet though they are so far away, the Lord Jesus Christ is as much with them, if they are believers, as he is with any little Christian reader in London or anywhere else. But when he stood on the sea-shore of Gadara, and was going back to the other side from whence he had come, the poor man may well have trembled to think of losing sight of one whose sweet presence was not only dear to his heart, but, as he no doubt thought, necessary to his safety. The recollection of the dark and awful power of that fearful legion, must have made him shudder, and he may not have understood that the power, the wondrous power of that blessed. Deliverer, could protect him, even when he was far away over the sea. What a precious friend we, who believe, have in him Think, dear little reader, that while Jesus has

“A heart to feel your smallest woe,”

he has, at the same time, a hand, an arm, a will ALMIGHTY. This the poor man may not have understood very clearly, and so wanted to go with his precious Lord. “But Jesus suffered him not.” Why not? Well, we must consider his reason for this in our next paper. In the mean time, we will only say that his reason gives us but another instance and proof of his sweet, patient grace, his wondrous love for sinners.

Thoughts About the Lord Jesus.

(For the Little Ones.)

You will remember that when the Lord cast out the legion and so graciously delivered the poor tormented man, he suffered them to go into a herd of swine feeding there, and that the whole herd ran violently down into the sea and perished. Now those who kept the swine went into the city, and told what had happened; and when the people came to see about it, they found the man, who had once been such a terror to the whole region, whom they had often bound with fetters and chains, and tried to control to no purpose, “sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed, and in his right mind.” What a blessed place for one who had been so completely under the powers of darkness! What grace in him who had delivered him! and how this proof of it should have moved the hearts of all to fall down and worship him, who had thus shown both his Divine power and his pity for the wretched. We read; too, that they also which saw it told the multitude by what means he that had been possessed by the devils was healed. Surely they will own him “the Son of God most high,” as even the very devils had done when they spake through the mouth of the poor frenzied demoniac! Nor “the whole multitude of the Gadarenes round about besought him to depart from them.” How was this a If you will read the 16th verse of Mark 5, you will see how it was.

Those who saw the wondrous miracle and told the people all about it, told them “also concerning the swine.” Now, perhaps these Gadarenes knew that God had said by Moses, “The land is MINE.” Perhaps they knew also that the same God who thus claimed the whole land, had given it to his people Israel, whom he had forbidden to have swine, and although Israel was scattered now, and the land was occupied in many parts by a mixed people, still in God’s sight the land was his, and his people’s to whom he had given it. “For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.” He never changes his mind. What he has once given is given forever and ever. Now he had given the whole land to his people Israel, and Israel was still one in his sight; his gracious eye still saw them where no other eye could see them. The names of the twelve tribes were still and evermore before him; and, although it would have been hard indeed for anyone to see the two tribes and a half which once dwelt on that side of the land where these Gadarenes were, although conquerors had carried away the ten tribes long, long ago, and had seized upon their inheritance; those words, “THE LAND IS MINE,” and, “The whole land have I given unto thee,” still remained. Nothing could, nothing can alter them; therefore the swine had no business there. “Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words [says God] shall NOT pass away.” What a precious thing it is to see this, dear little reader, that God’s every “word is settled in heaven,” whatever may go on upon earth. You are young, the wide world lies before you; if the Lord tarries and you live on, you will see many changes; but if, by his grace, you can fix your eye on his word, his unchangeable, never-failing word, you will hereafter find it “an anchor to the soul, both sure and steadfast;” an anchor that will never drag as common anchors sometimes do, and so cause those that trust them to be wrecked.

The unclean swine had no business there. The land was and is the Lord’s. Did these Gadarenes know this? Faithful Israelites were still in the land, you know, going up and down amongst them; and in talking with them now and then, may well have told them, that in spite of appearances, the land was Jehovah’s, and that swine were unclean and forbidden creatures to his people Israel. This would account for their being filled with fear. When we know that we are clinging to something which the Lord has forbidden, the thought of his presence troubles us. It is very unlikely, indeed, that these Gadarenes were quite ignorant of these things, and when they heard of the terrible display of the power of the legion, as the whole herd (about two thousand) ran violently down a steep place and perished in the waters, they may well have trembled if conscience was at work. And although they saw the poor man sitting there a happy witness to the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, his presence instead of filling them with joy and gratitude and praise, only filled them with fear. How evil-doing steels the heart against the grace of God, and blinds the eyes so that they cannot see. And then, instead of repenting of their sins and bowing down at the feet of him who had proved himself so ready to receive the vilest, they, clinging still in purpose to their swine, and preferring them even to the Lord himself, pray him to depart from them. What an insult! Had he come across the stormy sea to exercise his power and prove his grace on behalf of one so wretched, only to be instantly dismissed? How it must have grieved his gracious heart, and yet how quietly he accedes to their request, and without a word of rebuke gets into the ship to return whence he came. And now it was that the poor man, when he saw him departing, entreated that he might be with him. “But Jesus sent him away, saying, Return unto thine own house, and show how great things God hath done unto thee.” Thus, although these Gadarenes would not have Jesus among them, yet he cannot give them up; although they prefer their swine to himself, his love still follows them; although they insult him at the very moment when they had every reason to bow down and worship him, he meekly bears with them, and in the very act of yielding to a request that must have grieved his heart, he shows his patience and his grace in sending a messenger and a witness of his compassion into their midst. “Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee” (Mark 5:19). How kind, how very kind to these unworthy Gadarenes! Did it wound his meek and patient spirit, think you, to see how plainly they preferred their swine to himself, and all that his love could offer them? No doubt it did; but then, it was for their sakes that he was sorry, not for his own; and so, that they might not lose all the blessing that he would fain have bestowed upon them, he leaves a witness of his power and grace behind him, if haply some would listen to his testimony and turn to the Lord. Was not this most kind of the Lord Jesus?

And now, little reader, will you be like these bad Gadarenes? Will you let something steal your heart away from the blessed Jesus? Oh no! He is worthy of all your love; let then nothing hinder you from receiving him by faith. He waits for you to come to him. Think how gracious he is, and go at once. Then when you know and love him, you can tell others of his love, like the poor man whom he delivered from the legion; for we read, “he went his way and published throughout the whole city how great things Jesus had done unto him.”

"Too Late, Sir! the Train is in Motion."

SUCH were the words which once fell upon the writer’s ears, as in breathless haste and with hurried steps he wished to enter a carriage on the Great Northern Railway. For several reasons he particularly desired to commence his journey by the first train; but a circumstance over which he had no control prevented his reaching the station till the office door was closed; and though by entering it another way he obtained a ticket, when he reached the platform it was only to hear from the porter’s lips the words which stand at the head of this paper, and to see the train go on without him.

As there was no alternative but to await the arrival of the next train, he entered the waiting room; and while sitting there, the thought of the unutterable anguish which will be realized by those who, “because they received not the love of the truth that they might be saved,” will be left behind when the Lord shall descend into the air, so pressed upon his spirit that he sought to improve the occasion by writing to some he dearly loved, and whom he would fain have with him when the resurrection morn shall break, affectionately beseeching them to remember their precious souls in “the accepted time,” and to “strive to enter in at the strait gate,” before “the Master of the house” “rises up and shuts to the door.” And if you, dear readers, are unable to look up and say, “Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly,” be entreated to ponder the same subject, and think of the things which belong to your peace before they are hid from your eyes. You may not be “far from the kingdom of God;” you may be almost persuaded “to be a Christian;” you may “observe days, and months, and times, and years,” and be taken up with all that is comprehended in the category of a religious life—in short, you may, in name and pression, be as near to Christ as the writer was to the carriage which left him behind; but if you rest in a “form of godliness,” till the door of mercy is shut, you, like him, will be found without, seeking for admission when it is too late. In his case, the suspense was soon over; but in that of those who are not ready to meet the Saviour when he comes for “his own,” it will be altogether different. For those who have heard the Goel, and yet have not really received Christ, there will be no hope. No; those who, notwithstanding an orthodox creed, a moral life, and a constant attendance upon all the externals of Christianity, were never renewed in the spirit of their minds, will cry in vain, “Lord, Lord, open to us:” they will “seek to enter in, and shall not be able.”

Such is the solemn fact, and though there is no sign that “the Lord is at hand,” he may be “nigh, even at the doors.” Indeed, no sign need be looked for, because none will be given. “There shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars,” before the Lord descends with his saints, in judgment on the living nations. But the moment when he will come for them waits for the accomplishment of no event, nor for the fulfillment of any prophecy; nor is it dependent upon anything save the “Father’s good pleasure.”

“Surely I come quickly,” has long been the word of the Lord Jesus; and though “scoffers, walking after their own lusts,” say, “Where is the promise of his coming” and “the evil servant” says in his heart, “My Lord delayeth his coming,” “yet a little while, and he that shall come will come, and will not tarry.” When he will make good his word, and fulfill his promise, none can tell; but “in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,” those who “are fallen asleep in Christ,” and believers who “are alive and remain,” may be caught up “to meet the Lord in the air,” but you, unless you now take refuge in him, will have no share in the rapture, no part in the glory. On the contrary, you will be left behind to wonder, it may be, what has become of the husband who had frequently wept, as he told you how much his heart desired your salvation; or the wife who had often mourned over you and prayed for your conversion; or the father or mother who, in a variety of ways, had put before you “the gospel of the grace of God,” and assured you that nothing gave Jesus such joy as receiving sinners; or the child who, brought to know the Lord in early days, had said, “Father, I am going to heaven; are you going too?” or, “Mother, I love the Saviour, and I want you to love him too;” or the brother or sister, whose gentle remonstrances, though unheeded lave never been forgotten: and as you realize the fact that they are gone from your midst, to be

“Forever with the Lord,”

and that you are exposed to “the wrath of the Lamb,” who can conceive the terrific anguish and despair which will everlastingly fill your bosoms, as you reflect on the madness and folly of which you have been guilty, in refusing to listen to those who put the truth before you, but which you would not believe until it was too late?

Oh, then, dear readers, while the door is open, and “yet there is room,” while Jesus sits in patient grace at the right hand of God, “not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance,” before “the day of salvation” is over, and it is too late to be saved; believe the message of God’s love, and the invitations of his grace, and flee at once to Jesus who alone can deliver you “from the wrath to come.” N.

The Water Spout at Sea.

(For the Little Ones.)

HAS the little reader ever heard of those wonderful works of God sometimes witnessed out at sea, called water-spouts? They are supposed to be caused by the wind blowing in circles, as God tells us it does, in Ecclesiastes 1:6. The wind whirling round and round, assisted perhaps by electricity, raises the water of the ocean just as you see dust sometimes carried up in eddies; while the clouds overhead, being heavy with water, dip down, and the two are attracted together so that an enormous column of water is formed which looks like a huge trunk of a tree, or an immense trumpet turned upside-down. This column of water joins the cloud above it, and as it travels along before the mighty wind, a roaring noise is heard, just as if the deep below were calling to the waters in the firmament above.

This wonderful sight was witnessed one Saturday afternoon just about eleven years ago; a ship was sailing along, a little south of the Island of Madagascar, and not far off from the coast of Africa, when the captain saw, for the first time in his life, one of these strange phenomena. The wind, he says, was blowing in sharp squalls from all quarters, and it was alternately bright and sunny, and then dark and cloudy, with showers of rain.

In the distance to larboard, that is to the left hand, another ship was sailing, and just over it a great, black cloud hung threateningly. There is something almost awful in the appearance of a great thunder cloud. It looks as if it were big with destruction, and so indeed it would be but for God’s sparing mercies. No doubt the little reader has often seen these great clouds, even on land, and has perhaps looked at them in awe.

As they hang in mid air, ready all in a moment to discharge the electric fluid, that is the lightning, you know, do they not seem to remind us of the solemn threat of judgment which hangs over the head of every sinner? God loves the sinner, but if he will not flee to Jesus from “the wrath to come,” whose fault is it if judgment overtakes him? He is like one standing beneath a great black thunder cloud ready to burst upon his head in withering fire, and refusing to seek shelter when warned. Now, dear little reader, whenever you see a black cloud, think of these words, “He that believeth not the Son, shall not see life, but the WRATH OF GOD ABIDETH ON HIM.” Have you believed in Jesus the Son of God?

Well, but to return to our little tale about the water-spout. The great cloud hung for a few moments in the air, and, then all at once it seemed to throw out two tongues, as it were, which waved about like banners in the wind. Then the sea beneath began to boil and bubble furiously as if those black tongues of cloud had some strange influence on it, as indeed they had. For all at once the waters of the sea rose up towards them, the tongues stooped lower, the waters of the ocean and the waters in the firmament met together, and a great column, like the trunk of an enormous tree, stood or seemed to stand upon the surface of the sea, joined by two tubes to the great black cloud above. Then as the sun shone full upon the strange scene, the two tongues or tubes were turned to gold, like the clouds in the west when the sun is setting. A gale of wind began to blow; the thunder rolled, the lightning flashed, the waters roared, and the enormous column, securely held by the shining tubes, traveled onward through the stormy scene, as though drawn heavenward from the troubled depths by the golden cords let down from above to seize it.

Was not this a wondrous sight to witness? And does it not remind us of something still more wonderful? Judgment, like a great black cloud, hangs over the whole world, for “all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” But “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son,” and he, coming down from heaven, went to Calvary, and there upon the cross bore the wrath of God in the stead of sinners. He bore the judgment due to us, he shed his precious blood, laid down his life, and as he did so, said, “IT IS FINISHED.” Then he rose from the dead and went up into heaven, where he was before; and from thence he sent down the message of God’s love, the glad tidings of salvation, by the Holy Spirit, to every sinner under heaven, not in two tongues only, but in many languages, that all might hear and all might be saved. And to those who by grace receive the message of his love, the glad tidings become as golden cords that lift them out of the depths of sin and misery, and raise them from a world of storm and trouble into the sweet peace and joy of heaven itself. United to Christ, all sin forgiven, one with him who loved them, they have passed from death unto life; they are a new creation. Already in spirit “seated in heavenly places in Christ Jesus,” they pass on through the wilderness, soon to be personally with him where he is. In the meanwhile, upheld by his grace, drawn up by the golden cords of love, their joy and privilege is to realize their union with himself, and evermore, “gazing steadfastly up into heaven,” and seeing (by faith) the glory of God, and Jesus their blessed OBJECT, at God’s right hand, they grow up into him as the column of ocean’s waters seemed to grow up into the water that hung over them in heaven above.

This, dear little reader, is the lesson which we seem to gather from that wonderful work of God, the Water-Spout. May you be drawn to Jesus, if you have not already been. And if you have, may you learn to feel your union, your oneness with himself, and so pass on through this troubled, stormy world, clinging to him, upheld by his love, “walking and talking with him by the way,” till he comes to take you to his OWN HOME in heaven above.

Good News for Young and Old: Volume 9 (1867)

Table of Contents

"According to Your Faith be it unto You."

"And Then?"

Autumn Leaves.

A Baby's Death.

Benighted.

Benighted, Chapter 3, Conclusion.

Born from Above.

Chapter 2,: Benighted

The Child Martyr.

The Child's Prayer and the Teacher's Crown.

The Child's Question.

Damon and Pythias.

The Dead Sea.

Delays are Dangerous.

Dick the Chimney Sweeper.

"Every Eye Shall See Him."

"Every Eye Shall See Him:" Even the Little Ones.

The Examination Day and the Prize Won.

A Few Words for the Little Ones on New Year's Day.

The Fingerpost.

Found Again After Many Days.

A Fragment.

Fragments.

Fragments.

Fruits of Faithfulness.

The Happy Little Boy.

"He Careth for Us."

"He Says He Will;" or, Faith in God.

The Heavenly Home.

"I do Believe it!"

"I do Rest in Jesus."

"I Know That I am Saved, for God Himself has Said so."

In the Ship and on the Sea.

An Infant's Prayer.

"Is That It?"

"Jesus Only!"

"Jesus, Tender, Loving Shepherd."

Just as I Am.

The Lambs of Christ.

Learn While You May.

A Letter for the Little Ones.

Light.

The Little Boy Who Did What He Could.

Little Heinrich's Prayer.

The Little Missionary.

The Little Ransomed One.

"Lord to Whom Shall We Go?"

Lost.

The Loving Saviour

More Than an Angel.

Naaman.

"No Condemnation."

Old Betty, or Submission.

The Old Frozen Moat.

The Old Scotchwoman's Faith.

The Pitying Saviour.

Portrait of a Little Child.

Prayer for Children.

The Prayer of Faith.

Procrastination.

The Rejected Life Boat;

The Rescued Child.

The Rescued Lamb.

The Rock in the Wilderness.

Rosina, the Dying Orphan.

Saved by Grace.

The Saviour's Coming.

Scenes from Real Life.

The Sower.

The Strict Teacher and the Indifferent Mark.

"Take Heed What Thou Doest."

"The Flower Fadeth"

Thoughts About the Lord Jesus.

Thoughts About the Lord Jesus.

Thoughts About the Lord Jesus.

"Too Late, Sir! the Train is in Motion."

The Water Spout at Sea.