Chapter C: Wardle (2)

Next morning, multitudes came to see his picture, and hear about his cure, which he long afterwards believed to be a miracle. Soon after he had finally left his priesthood, however, he again caught the fever, while visiting a dying man, and again on the thirteenth day the malady took a favourable turn; but this time he had felt happy in the prospect of dying, and the vision he saw at the crisis of the disease was not St. Anne, or St. Philomene, but a dozen bishops, dagger in hand, rushing on him to take his life. He thought he turned on them and slew them, and with this the fever left him. He asked for food, and speedily recovered, and then he knew that it was the Lord who had forgiven all his iniquities, who had also healed his diseases, without the aid of any of the saints of Rome, and the snare which had long held him captive was broken. He no longer sought the aid of departed saints in heaven, any more than he thought of again praying for souls in purgatorial fires. The Word of God was henceforth his only guide. May the religion of the Bible only, be our religion also.--_Jottings on "The Life and Work of Father Chiniquy," by Cousin Susan._

COUNTING THE COST.

There are some curious stories respecting Fra Rocco, the celebrated preacher of Naples. On one occasion, it is related, he preached a penitential sermon, and introduced so many illustrations of terror that he soon brought his hearers to their knees. While they were thus showing every sign of contrition, he cried out--

"Now, all of you who sincerely repent of your sins, hold up your hands."

Every man in the vast multitude immediately stretched out both his hands.

"Holy Archangel Michael," exclaimed Rocco, "thou who with thine adamantine sword standest at the right of the judgment-seat of God, hew me off every hand which has been raised hypocritically."

In an instant every hand dropped, and Rocco, of course, poured forth a fresh torrent of eloquent invective against their sins and their deceit.

[True repentance is given by Jesus Christ, the exalted Prince and Saviour. All other is but mere show, and unavailing before God.--ED.]

A HEART without a gift is better than a gift without a heart.

JUVENILE GEMS.

The subjects of these memoirs--Ann Jane Woolford, George Woolford, and Hephzibah Woolford--were born in the beautiful town of Cheltenham, August 20th, 1840, January 28th, 1842, and February 14th, 1846.

The names of their parents were George and Ann Woolford, both members of the Church assembling for worship in Bethel Chapel, Cheltenham.

In all, four children shared their affection, interested their solicitudes, listened to their counsels, and knelt at their domestic altar.

Upon three out of the four the grave closed in comparative infancy; and, believing the "kindness and love of God our Saviour toward man" appeared to them, the bereaved mother, partly to indulge in a subject of mournful interest, and partly to record the gracious dealings of God, drew up, with her own hand, the subjoined narrative:--

GEORGE.

"My eldest child, George Woolford, was attacked by scarlatina on October 16th, 1851, from which he partially recovered, but died the following month.

"Perceiving his soul 'drawing nigh unto the grave, and his life to the destroyers,' I remarked, 'It will do you no harm to think of death, seeing we must all die.' With tears in his eyes he exclaimed, 'Oh, mother, I am afraid I shall not go to heaven.' I asked _why_ he thus feared. His answer was, 'I am afraid the Lord will not forgive me.' I said, 'My dear, the Lord is ready to forgive _all_ who from their hearts are sorry for their sins; and I hope the Holy Ghost will enable you to pray for divine forgiveness.' He seemed much affected by these remarks, but said he was too ill to talk or listen to me.

"In great earnestness (and I believe under divine influence) I entreated God to grant me the great favour of informing me whether my dear boy was interested in the everlasting covenant, which is 'ordered in all things, and sure.'

"About two or three days after, he commenced a conversation by saying, 'Mother, I am afraid I shall not go to heaven. I have been such a sinner. I am afraid I am so great a sinner that the Lord will not save me. I have done so many things that are sinful, and they come into my mind and make me grieve.' I repeated several portions of the Holy Scripture, to which he listened in great earnestness, and then inquired, 'But, as I have not long to live, will the Lord forgive me after putting it off so long?' I answered in the affirmative, and mentioned the dying thief, assuring him the Lord was as willing to pardon him as He had been to pardon that malefactor. This relieved his mind, and he asked for his Testament to read.

"A few days after, while I was gazing intently on him, he meekly exclaimed, 'Do not look at me so, my dear mother. It almost breaks my heart.' I said, 'My dear boy, do you ever _pray_?' He answered, 'I _try_ to do so; but do not know that I pray _aright_.' I remarked, 'If it is from your heart, the Lord will answer it in His own time, for the prayer of necessity is that in which He delights.'

"On the Lord's Day before his death he appeared much better, ate a hearty dinner, and remained up till between four and five in the afternoon, when he exclaimed, 'Oh, mother, I am afraid my breath is getting bad again.' After several hours of great suffering, he cried out, 'Dear Lord, take me--do take me!' Hearing him thus call upon the name of the Lord, I approached him softly, and in soothing terms expressed my gladness at finding he was not afraid to die. 'No, dear mother,' he said, 'I am not afraid to die. I am happy now.' I inquired, 'Do you love the Lord?' 'Oh, yes,' was his ready answer, and immediately ejaculated, 'Dearest Lord, take me--take me--take me!' a great many times.

"His pains becoming stronger, he said, 'Dear mother, do pray the dear Lord to take me!' I did so; and when risen from my knees, he said, 'Thank you, my dear mother. I hope the Lord will answer your prayer,' and then added, 'Oh, my dear, dear Lord, do take me! Take me from this world now. I do not want to live here. Take me with my next breath. This moment, dear Lord, take me.'

"Observing the state of his mind, I put this question to him--'My dear boy, do you think the Lord has washed you in His blood, and clothed you in His precious righteousness?' 'Oh, yes, I do, mother,' was his prompt reply.

"His pains abating, he remarked, 'How kind the Lord is to me! I shall never be able to praise Him enough.' I said, 'My dear, you will have the countless ages of eternity to praise Him in.' He said, 'I want to go.' I answered, 'Pray for patience, that you may wait the Lord's time.' 'I am not impatient, but my pains are great,' was his meek reply, and he began entreating the Lord to remove him from this sinful world.

"A short time after this, he exclaimed, 'Oh, that precious Book, the Bible!' I answered, 'It is indeed a precious Book. It tells us of a Saviour, who washed you and me in His precious blood!' He said, 'Yes'; and added, 'Pray for Him to take me soon. Do, dear mother,' &c.

"Expressing a desire to kiss my hand, I gave him one. He held it very tightly, and kissed it several times. I asked him if he thought he had been a little sinner or a great one. Surprised by this question, and apparently hurt, he replied, 'Oh, mother, a _great_ one--a _great_ one.'

"Overhearing a part of my conversation with his aunt, he said, 'Oh, mother, do not ask the Lord to let me live. I want to die. I would not live half a second.'

"Shortly after, he repeated a similar prayer, wished to see his father, kiss him, and take his leave of him, which he did in an affectionate manner. He then inquired what o'clock it was, and being disappointed, cried out in a tone of thrilling solemnity, 'O Lord of Hosts, come and take me!' Shortly afterwards he exclaimed, lifting up his eyes and hands to heaven, 'I think I am dying. Pray again, dear mother, that the Lord may take me.' Persuaded of his interest in Christ, I was enabled to resign him, and much as I loved him, actually entreated the Lord to fetch him away. When this was over, he said, 'Thank you, my dearest mother. I hope the Lord will answer all your prayers before long.'

"At another time, he remarked, 'How good the Lord is to me, is He not?' And again, 'My sufferings are great, but they will soon be over, for I shall soon be with the Lord'; and in a manner I cannot describe, exclaimed, 'Oh, dear Lord Jesus Christ, and Holy Ghost, come and take me.'

"Not long after, he remarked, 'I shall soon go now. Something has broke in my head. You may send for some one to lay me out.'

"After a short interval he complained of shortness of breath, and proceeded to call upon the Lord in a sweet manner, but in a short time suddenly exclaimed, 'Now I know I shall soon be gone, for two things have broke within me. Does not my voice get weaker?'

"After giving directions about his books, he again complained of his distresses, and I remarked, 'The way to the kingdom was through much tribulation.' He requested that I would pray for patience; and upon being reminded that the Lord loved him too well to detain him one moment beyond the appointed time, he said, 'Oh, why is He so long in coming? Dear Lord, come _now_!'

"Referring him to some of the Lord's children who had suffered fire and sword, but were now in glory, I added, 'You will soon be with them, and have ten thousand smiles from your Redeemer, with love in every smile.' This seemed to refresh his spirit, and I continued, 'One moment with Christ will more than recompense for all your pain.' He said, 'Oh, yes. Come, dear Lord, and take me!'

"Heart and flesh failing, his father was called into his room. The patient sufferer looked calmly at him, gently moved to the other side of the chair, said 'Mother!' and resting his head on his arm, and with a pleasant countenance, and without a groan, quietly fell asleep in Christ, November 17th, 1851, at five o'clock a.m."

Thus died George Woolford, aged nine years and nine months.

"Those that sleep in Christ will God bring with Him."

"'I take these little lambs,' said He,
'And lay them in My breast;
Protection they shall find in Me;
In Me be ever blest.

"'Death may the bands of life unloose,
But can't dissolve My love;
Millions of infant souls compose
The family above.'

"His words the happy parents hear,
And shout with joys divine--
'Dear Saviour, all we have and are
Shall be for ever Thine.'"

HEPHZIBAH.

"My dear Hephzibah was taken ill on the fifth of November, and though I have not many sayings of hers to record, I nevertheless believe that there was 'some good thing in her toward the Lord God of Israel,' and therefore, in solemn pleasure, rehearse the memorials of His grace.

"On the fourth day of her illness she said, 'Mother, I am very ill, but I am not afraid to die, mother. No; I should like to die, and be with the Lord, for I do love Him, mother, that I do, better than every one besides.' 'But do you not love your father and mother best?' I inquired. Her answer was, 'I do love _you_ both very dearly, but I love the Lord _most_. Ought I not to love Him most, mother?' I said, 'Yes, my dear.' She replied, 'And so I _do_. I want to go to heaven, to be with Him. And I should like my dear father, and mother, and Ann Jane, and George, and Rhoda to go with me. Would not that be happy, to meet and never part again? There we should have all we want.' I replied, 'Yes, my dear, "for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of water, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." "And there shall be no night there."' 'Oh, will not that be happy, mother?' she exclaimed. 'I want to die, that I may see the Lord. He is so good and kind to me.' I asked, 'Would you not like to get well again?' and her reply was, 'I would rather die and go to Jesus.'

"The frequency of her expressed desires to 'depart and be with Christ' excited a trembling apprehension in my mind of her speedy dissolution, an apprehension fully verified by the event.

"She now sunk into a state of unconsciousness, in which she continued for more than a week, suffering very much, indicating the speedy disrupture of all earthly ties, and inducing a perpetual vigil.

"To my surprise she suddenly rallied, seemed to get better, and 'hope told a flattering tale'; but it disappointed us, and rendered the separation more trying.

"The sensitive vigilance of my child's conscience was very remarkable. For instance, when any little delicacy had been declined, she remained inflexible, remarking that to alter her decision would be to 'tell a story,' which, she said, 'would be very wicked.'

"On the day she died, she said, 'Mother, I am very ill. I think I shall die. My throat is so bad.' Shortly after, she said, 'Mother,' and was silent. A few minutes after that, she lifted up her dear eyes and hands to heaven three times, clasping her hands and letting them down again.

"None but a mother knows a mother's heart. I saw the stroke, clasped my loved Hephzibah, and impressed the farewell kiss on her dying cheek. She looked at me, gave up the ghost, and was 'carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom' on November 28th, 1851, in the sixth year of her age."

"One gentle sigh their fetters breaks,
We scarce can say, 'They're gone!'
Before the willing spirit takes
Her mansion near the throne.

"Faith strives, but all its efforts fail
To trace her in her flight;
No eye can pierce within the veil
Which hides that world of light.

"Thus much (and this is all) we know--
They are completely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Saviour rest."

[The memoir of the third child, Ann Jane, will appear next month.]

THE BLIND TORTOISE IN THE WELL.

A blind tortoise lived in a well. Another tortoise, a native of the ocean, in his inland travels happened to tumble into this well. The blind one asked of his new comrade whence he came.

"From the sea."

Hearing of the sea, he of the well swam round a little circle and asked--

"Is the water of the ocean as large as this?"

"Larger," replied he of the sea.

The well tortoise then swam two-thirds of the well, and asked if the sea was as big as that.

"Much larger than that," said the sea tortoise.

"Well, then," asked the blind tortoise, "is the sea as large as this whole well?"

"Larger," said the sea tortoise.

"If that is so," said the well tortoise, "how big, then, is the sea?"

The sea tortoise replied, "You having never seen any other water than that of your well, your capability of understanding is small. As to the ocean, though you spent many years in it, you would never be able to explore the half of it, nor to reach the limit, and it is utterly impossible to compare it with this well of yours."

The well tortoise replied, "It is impossible that there can be a larger water than this well. You are simply praising up your native place with vain words."

How many people there are like the tortoise in the well!

BIBLE ENIGMA.

Though 'tis not seen, yet it is known,
For oft it makes e'en strong men groan.
The proud and bold have shook with fear
When they have felt this strong one near.
Yea, monarchs have before it fell,
And feared that they should sink to hell.
But oft the sad have felt this power,
And found, in trouble's darkest hour,
Such friendly help that they have said
They never more should be afraid.
And such as felt condemned to die
Have been released and filled with joy.
Now, reader, search your Bible through,
And tell us where these things you view.

THE greatest happiness of the creature is not to have the creature for his happiness.

"THE SENSE AND SENSES OF ANIMALS."

Sir John Lubbock, M.P., some time since, delivered an address in Queen Street Hall, Edinburgh, to the members of the Edinburgh Philosophical Institution, on "The Sense and Senses of Animals." In the course of his remarks the lecturer said that one would gratefully admit that the dog was a loyal, and true, and affectionate friend, but when we came to consider the nature of the animal, our knowledge was very limited. That arose a good deal from the fact that people had tried rather to teach animals than to learn from them. It had occurred to him that some such method as that which was followed in the case of deaf mutes might prove instructive if adapted to the case of dogs. He had tried with a black poodle belonging to himself. He then went on to relate several experiments he had made with pieces of cardboards, with different words marked upon them. He had taken two pieces of card, one blank, and the other with the word "food" upon it. He had put the latter on a saucer containing some bread and milk, and the blank card he put on an empty saucer. The dog was not allowed to eat until it brought the proper card to him. This experiment was repeated over and over again, and in about ten days the dog began to distinguish the card with the letters on it from the plain card. It took a longer time to make the dog realize the difference between different words.

In order to try and discover whether the dog could distinguish colours, he prepared six cards, marking two of them blue, two yellow, and two orange. He put one of each on the floor, and tried to get the dog to bring to him a card with the same colour as one which he showed the dog in his hand. After trying this for three months, he found that his experiment in this direction was a failure.

He had always felt a great longing to know how the world appeared to the lower animals. It was still a doubtful point whether ants were able to hear. From experiments which he had made, he had come to the conclusion they had not the power of addressing each other. His impression on the whole was, that bees and ants were not deaf, but that they heard sounds so shrill as to be beyond our hearing. There was no doubt about insects seeing. He then went on to relate several experiments he had made with the view of discovering whether different insects could distinguish different colours, and had any preference for particular colours. The colours of objects must present a very different impression upon insects to that on human beings. The world to them might be full of music which we could not hear, colours which we could not see, and sensations which we could not feel.

BEWARE OF THORNS.

A hand encased in leathern glove,
One pensive autumn day,
Gathered some pretty wayside flowers,
To make a bright bouquet.

With kind intent the flowers were culled,
To please a loved one's taste;
But ah! unconsciously, some thorns
Were with the blossoms placed.

The hand that grasped the welcome gift
Soon felt the piercing smart,
And pain dispelled the grateful smile
That rayed out from the heart.

Would we to spirits bowed and sad
Convey a transient joy?
Let not the lack of tender skill
Our kindly deed alloy.

E. D.

IF you pursue sin for profit you will never profit by your sin.

THE COST OF A BROKEN SABBATH.

A bright Sabbath morning in August, a young minister was on his road to a distant parish, where he had engaged to take the services. He overtook a group of lads, evidently bent on an excursion of amusement. A boy, coming from the opposite direction, was being alternately persuaded and chaffed to give up _for once_ going to Sunday School, and join the pleasure-party instead. Just then an old man, of venerable appearance, who had watched the group from his garden, came forward and addressed the boys in the following words--

"Lads, you may think lightly _now_ of what you are doing, but Sabbath-breaking leads to ruin--has led to the gallows. Ben"--turning to the boy on his way to Sunday School--"don't be ashamed of doing right. The Lord saith, 'Them that honour Me I will honour, and they that despise Me shall be lightly esteemed.' Ah! boys, be warned in time. You cannot reckon _the cost of a broken Sabbath_."

Ben, strengthened thus, went on his way, regardless of the jeers of the other lads, who, turning over a stile, were quickly out of sight and hearing.

The minister also went on his way, but the earnest tones and sad expression of the aged man had made a deep impression on him, and he pondered if some personal experience lay behind that solemn warning, "You cannot reckon _the cost of a broken Sabbath_."

The evening of that day found him coming through the fields by a path which led hard by the door of the cottage of the old man. It had been pointed out as shorter and pleasanter than the dusty high road which he had travelled in the morning. The day had been hot, and an offer to go back to the rectory for refreshment had been declined, as it would lengthen the walk considerably; but now, tired and thirsty, he resolved to test the hospitality of the owner of the cottage.

The old man sat outside his doorway, with his big Bible on a round table. The wayfarer asked for a little water to drink. He was courteously requested to enter in and rest, and a draught of milk proposed instead, unless he could wait for a cup of tea. The kettle was boiling in the back kitchen, and the little table, covered with a snowy cloth, was already set for a solitary meal, which the visitor was invited to share. He accepted the kindly offer, not sorry to have an opportunity of converse with one whose words had lingered with him through the day.

Having explained how he had been occupied since passing in the early morn, he remarked--

"You live alone?"

"Yes, sir, I am alone in the world, but yet not alone, for the Saviour is often with me in my humble dwelling, and I hope in a little while He'll come and take me to His home above."

"That is a blessed hope to cheer and make you patient to wait His time, my friend," was the rejoinder. "Have you been left long alone?"

"The last went home twenty years ago, come Michaelmas," said the aged host. "It has been whiles a weary waiting-time, but it's sinful to repine. His time must be the right time."

Whilst the old man went to fetch the tea, the guest looked round and observed some articles of carved wood--boxes, flat rulers, and leaf-cutters--and was struck with the frequent recurrence of short words of Holy Writ on the Sabbath. Some little books lay on the window-sill, many of which were on the same subject.

After impressively asking God's blessing, and whilst partaking of the simple meal, the visitor remarked--

"I see the sanctity of the Lord's Day is a strong point with you. I was struck this morning with the expression you used to those lads--'_the cost of a broken Sabbath_.'"

No response came for some minutes, as if the host was debating some question with himself; and so it proved, for at last he raised his head and said, with a vast depth of pathos in his tones--

"None have had greater reason to know the bitter cost, sir, than myself. It is not often that I speak of the past, but it may be the Lord has brought you here for a purpose to-day, and you may be able to use it as a warning to some within your influence."

"If your story will not be too painful to you, my friend, I should indeed feel grateful to you for it," was the response.

"I do not belong to these parts, sir," he began, "but I've been here over a quarter of a century. I lived in a large village in a midland county, where some extensive mill-works were carried on, and rose from a lad's tasks there to fill the place of foreman. I married happily, and had a home of comfort and peace with a loving, godly wife. Four children out of six born to us grew up--two sons and two daughters--and after the toil and din of the week, Sunday was a day of quiet enjoyment, in the midst of my family, spent in God's house and our home, with the aid of books and singing, for we all had fair voices. It had never been counted a dull day by the young folks. The lovely flowers and birds, and the wonders of the book of creation and the Book of grace, made the day of holy rest seem all too short. But our circle did not remain unbroken. First, our eldest girl, poor Maggie, left home to take a situation in a neighbouring town, and soon after, our first-born, David, who had never taken kindly to mill-work, obtained employment in an office in the same town, within five minutes' walk of his sister. This seemed well for both, being much attached to each other. Ned and Mary still clung to the old home, and the other two frequently spent the Sabbath in our midst. David almost always walked over in the early morn, or late on Saturday night, returning, if alone, on Monday morning, or, if Maggie accompanied him, the same evening, as she was not allowed out at night. She could only, of course, take turns with her fellow-servants; but, unless weather prevented, we could surely reckon on the flown birds coming, when able, back to their nest on the Sabbath.

"But at last came just such a lovely summer day as this has been. We lingered before starting for church till long after the bells had been chiming, but neither of them came. We looked to find them on our return, and dinner waited long; but the night came, and we had not heard or seen aught of either. I overheard Ned in the garden speaking to Mary--

"'I shan't feel easy till I've run over to the town to-morrow, after work-hours. I hear there was to be a river excursion from the town to-day--a steamer calling for a lot of folks.'

"'But, Ned, you don't believe Davie or Maggie would go?' said Mary, half reproachfully.

"'I don't feel comfortable about it,' replied her brother. 'Maggie could be persuaded to go anywhere with David, and he and I had a talk not long ago on Sunday trips. He said folks could thus get out into pure country air, for a few pence, who were cooped up all the week in the smoke of the town, and those who desired it could go to a place of worship even twice, and get tea, before they had to start on the return voyage.'

"The fear expressed was, alas! too well grounded. David's master's son was one of these habitual pleasure-seekers, and had long tried to persuade him to join him. He had also become acquainted with Maggie, through meeting her out with the children to whom she was nursemaid, and often fell in with her on the Sundays she spent in the town. In vain had he tried to induce her to join the steamer trip, till one day he said--

"'If David went, you could not scruple about going under his care.'

"'Oh, I'm safe enough not to go at that rate,' was her reply.

"But she was mistaken. David had been persuaded to put his conscience to sleep by the resolution that it should only be _for once_, just to see for himself how it worked really, for good or evil. He was more than half inclined to retract his consent, when he learnt that his sister was to be of the party, but the tempter having got his victims into the net, did not let them off.

"David and Maggie found a church near the river, and went to morning service. Their evil adviser accompanied them on condition that the afternoon should be spent in the woods.

"It was not difficult to get separated in the many paths, and when the steamer's warning bell was heard, amid the hurried rush onboard, David did not discover till too late that, amongst several missing, were Maggie, and also his master's son. No entreaty could induce the captain to put back.

"Some fresh passengers had come on board, showing views and engravings, and David, glad to divert his attention from self-reproach, amused his mind with looking through their collection, for he now repented bitterly that he had ever come--still more that he had brought his sister, and then allowed her to slip out of his charge. One of the new comers was especially friendly, explaining the views to 'cheer up his spirits.'

"When within ten minutes of landing, a boat came alongside with two or three police in plain clothes, and soon arrested, as well-known pickpockets, two of the fresh passengers, whilst all were advised to see what they had lost. Much of the booty was found on the prisoners, but not all, which led to a general search of the passengers. On my poor son, in his coat-pocket, was discovered the rest of the missing plunder, which had doubtless been slipped in by his friendly entertainer when he saw the police on board. David's protestations of innocence were all unavailing. The contents of his pockets were then and afterwards deemed conclusive proof of his guilt. All efforts to save him were in vain. He never breathed free air again in this life. His sentence placed him among convicts at Portland, where his health broke down under grief and disgrace. The tidings of his death reached me after I had moved here, in a kind letter from the chaplain, sending this precious relic [taking a well-worn Testament from his breast], with its marked verses of comfort and a few lines from my poor boy--all I have left of him."

A folded sheet of paper, yellow from age and tender from frequent handling, lay between the leaves of the little Book. The old man handed both to his guest. In the touching farewell to his father were the words, "You and mother know I've suffered innocently, and it's now nearly over, and I shall soon be free and with Jesus, whose precious blood has cleansed me from all sin. But, dear father, never cease to _warn_ the young of the fearful _cost of a broken Sabbath_."

The aged man wiped away some falling tears.

"I shall see my boy soon," he continued. "I've tried to keep his injunction, and, by tract given or word spoken, not to let a Sabbath go by without some warning. His mother scarcely held up her head after his trial, and did not survive her first-born many weeks, and I was left alone with our youngest--my Mary. That broken Sabbath had lost Maggie her place and character. The doors were locked against her that night, and no explanation would be accepted next day. She wrote us word she'd got another situation at a distance through a friend. We never saw her more in the old house, and lost all traces of her. Our other boy, Ned, came to us soon after his brother's trial, and, asking our consent and forgiveness for going away, said he could not hold up his head in the village, and must go to sea. We let him go, hoping time and change of scene would heal the wound, and he'd come back to us to a fresh home, for I felt like himself, that I could not stay on in the factory, and resigned my post and came here, hoping our Davie might soon be free to join us also; but the Lord set him free to go to a better mansion in the skies.

"Four years after we came here, I had a letter from a neighbour who lived hard by in the old place. What Mary had often secretly feared, came to pass. Maggie had come back, to find no home left; but the widow over the way had seen in the dusk a woman go and return, repulsed from the old door, and sit down to weep by the road-side. She brought the wanderer to her own fireside. I fetched her away, and we nursed the poor, worn, wasted one tenderly, but she had only come home with the prodigal's cry, to die--'Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee.'

"That broken Sabbath was her first step to ruin, but the blessed Lord, in His rich mercy, and by the Holy Spirit's gracious leadings, led her to the fountain which makes crimson sins white as snow, and she is gone before me too.

"The doctor--a good, kind man--shook his head, and bade me keep my Mary in the fresh air, and give her plenty of new milk. He feared she had taken the seeds of disease in that long nursing, and so it proved; but, with the hopefulness of consumption, she did not believe she was going to leave me desolate, and I deceived myself, and hoped against hope, as I looked on the sweet face and lovely bloom as she lay on this bench, enjoying the sight and breath of the flowers.

"By my carving, which went to a London house, we were kept from want, and Ned sent us home, with sailor generosity, supplies of money.

"'If he'd only come himself,' said my Mary, 'it would be better than all the gold.'

"'Write and tell him so,' I said; and so we both did, and I told him of the fading away of his favourite sister, hoping it would draw him back over the sea, if anything would; but the brother and sister were not to meet here again. My Mary left me one early morn, as the sun's first streaks were gilding the sky. No answer came from my sailor son, but the good pastor who had ministered to us in our hours of sore need, came one day, and gently told me, as I sat alone, that his ship had gone down in one of the wild Atlantic storms. My boy is now safe in heaven, where there is no more sea."

The aged man ceased. His eye was on the sunset cloud, but his heart was in the spirit land. His guest, rising up to depart, took tenderly the wrinkled hand, and said, "The ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion, with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away."

Then he hastened homewards, his own heart full with this touching record of _the cost of a broken Sabbath_.--_From a Tract, published by S. W. Partridge and Co._

A SOFT PILLOW.

If the pillow be too hard, it is very unlikely that the sleep should be sound. Yet this mainly depends upon circumstances. If the conscience is easy, the pillow will be comfortable, even though a block of stone. Jacob slept sweetly at Bethel, when the Lord appeared to him and told him that He was his God. If, on the other hand, there is guilt on the conscience, though the head is laid on the softest down, the pillow will not be altogether easy.

RECEIVING THE TRUTH.

Mrs. Le Pla was a French lady, who came over to England in the younger part of her life, with much of the vivacity for which the French nation has been remarkable. She was particularly under the eye of a grave, Pharisaic lady, by whom she was persuaded to go to church, but the dull manner in which the clergyman performed his office disgusted her so much, that she withheld her attention, and fell asleep. At this, her English friend was exceedingly angry, and reproved her sharply.

On another Lord's Day her friend took her to hear Dr. F----, but his excessive action provoked her to such a degree that she burst into a loud laugh, and she was desired to walk out of the place of worship, where she had certainly shown too little regard for the Divine Being and His worshippers.

On returning home, she was very properly and severely remonstrated with, at which she was much hurt. She replied, in broken English, "What can I do, madam? I go to church to please you, and there I fall asleep. I go to meeting, and there I laugh; and to tell you the truth, I begin to think my own religion is not the right religion, for that teaches me to worship images, and God says, 'Thou shalt _not_ make any graven image.' If, therefore, madam, I go to any place of worship, it shall be to hear a Mr. Whitefield, for I have heard great things of him."

"Well," said her English friend, "we will inquire where he preaches."

The good man was then dead. The ladies therefore went to the Tabernacle, Moorfields. Mr. T. Knight was the preacher, and the native of France, enraptured, cried out--

"This is the good and right doctrine! Here I will attend."

"Yes," said the prudent, self-righteous lady, "it is my opinion that they believe in predestination here, and you cannot think it right that God made any of His creatures to be damned?"

"Oh, no," said Mrs. Le Pla; "but I will certainly inquire for myself."

The next opportunity was eagerly embraced, and the zealous inquirer, seating herself by a good old woman of the congregation, whispered--

"Pray, madam, do they believe in predestination here?"

"Why, predestination," said she, "how can they avoid believing it? The Bible is full of it."

The querist was thunderstruck. She hastened home.

"Do they believe in predestination there?"

"An old lady told me they did," was the reply. "But," said the French lady, "I am determined to ask the minister myself."

Not long after, she had an interview with Mr. Knight.

"Pray, sir," said she, "will you allow me to ask you a few questions?"

"By all means," said the good man.

"Then you must know," said Mrs. Le Pla, "I was brought up a Roman Catholic, and I think that is not the right religion, because they worship images, and I come to hear you with pleasure, sir. But my friends tell me you believe in predestination, and a good old lady, one of your congregation, confirms it. I have therefore taken the liberty to ask yourself about it."

Mr. Knight said to her, "Do not believe what every old woman says to you. Do you believe you are a sinner?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"Do you feel the want of Jesus Christ?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"Then," said Mr. Knight, "continue to hear the Word of God, and search the Scriptures to see whether I preach the truth or not."

She took his advice, and some little time after, he preached on the subject of predestination, and desired his hearers to compare what he had to say with their Bibles. The French lady did so, and was quite overcome with conviction of the truth. The question now was not with her, whether predestination was a truth of God or not, but whether she was one of the happy number appointed to salvation.

She afterwards became established in the truth, was joined to Mr. Brewer's Church, died in the Lord some years since, and was interred in the adjoining burying-ground.

AN EVENING AT THE WEST END.

On Monday evening, April 23rd, 1888, we were present at the twenty-second Annual Meeting of Gower Street Chapel Sunday School, and, although the weather was most unfavourable, the attendance was good, which must have been very encouraging to Mr. Cooper, the Superintendent, and the teachers. The meeting was presided over by the senior deacon, Mr. Link.

The proceedings were opened by singing, and the Chairman read the fourth chapter of Malachi, after which Mr. Gray engaged in prayer.

Mr. Link, in the course of a few weighty remarks, said that they were gathered to thank the Lord for His goodness. He felt that the children were surrounded with many temptations to ensnare them. He spoke of the shortness of time, and the solemnity of the day of judgment, and said that he often meditated upon these things, and thought about the Lord's servants and people, whom he had loved because they were the Lord's, and whom he hoped to meet again when he had done with time things.

The report for the past year was then read by Mr. Hale, the Secretary, from which it appears that there are 222 scholars on the books, which is a slight decrease during the year. The library numbers about 1,030 books. The report of the Sick and Benevolent Society was also read.

Mr. Boorne, of Greenwich, in addressing the teachers, referred to the works, Word, and worship of God. He said that the grass, moss, plants, trees, flowers, and fruits showed the sovereignty of God. Then there were the various animals for the use and food of mankind, and the internal treasures--metals, oxides, salts, &c. God's wise provision of the sea for cleansing and purifying the earth--all declared the sovereignty, wisdom, power, and goodness of God.

"Great God, with wonder and with praise,
On all Thy works I look;
But still Thy wisdom, power, and grace
Shine brightest in Thy Book."

He then spoke of the Book of _revelation_, the Bible, and the need that the scholars should be taught the value of it, and what it has cost to procure it to us--what a privilege it is to be able to read it, and of the mercy of understanding it.

He mentioned an instance of a Bible, consisting of nine volumes, being sold for L33 6s. 8d., in the thirteenth century, which would represent about fifteen times that sum now. To-day a Bible might be bought for a few pence.

He referred to the rigid laws of the time of Henry V., to prevent any from reading the Bible in the mother tongue; yet still the Book lives.

He referred to the vulgar idea of the "three R's" in education, and said that there were three R's which he wished them to oppose in their teaching, namely, _Romanism_, _Rationalism_, and _Ritualism_. How many worshipped something short of God in the setting up of candles, crucifixes, music, and other things. We must "worship in spirit and in truth."

He concluded by exhorting them not to grow weary in well-doing, for their labour would not be in vain in the Lord.

Mr. Hazlerigg, of Leicester, said he had the difficult task of speaking to the children, and he wished to put before them four prizes. But they were not tangible--nothing to eat, nor yet anything to see--yet all, he thought, might have them, and he recommended them all to aim at getting them.

The first thing he wished them to prize was, their Sunday School. He said it should be the endeavour of all to keep up the honour of the school, and, when any were tempted to do wrong, their first thought should be, "What would they say at the Sunday School?" When he was formerly in the army, they had what was termed "_esprit de corps_," _i.e._, a pride in keeping up the character of the regiment. He hoped none of his audience would ever buy sweets on Sunday, or it might be said, that "It is one of the Gower Street Sunday School children."

The second prize was, their Bibles. If they prized and were led by their Bibles, they would be good children. It would make them submit to all lawful authority. How different it would be if the command, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," was better learnt and practised than it is!

In the third place, he wished them to prize their chapel. He spoke of the blessing attending the hearing of the Word of God. He said that some children go to school, and then slip off without going to chapel. He hoped none of those before him ever did that.

Fourthly, he hoped they would prize their Superintendent and their teachers. What a labour of love and self-denial was theirs! They liked the work, and their desire was, the glory of God in the children's good--in the salvation of their souls, and their prosperity--and they sought for this reward--the good of their scholars.

The "touchable" prizes for the past year were then distributed by Mr. Hazlerigg, and after Mr. Link had concluded with prayer, the children each received a bun and orange, the gift of Mr. Prior, one of their teachers.

For the sake of brevity, a vote of thanks was proposed to the latter, associated with the names of the visiting ministers and the President, which was heartily responded to. Mr. Hazlerigg replied for all in a few witty words, which brought the evening to a genial and timely close.

RAGGED TOM.

Tom was a poor, ragged boy. His home was an old house in a narrow court. A stool, a deal table, an old bed in one corner, and a bag of shavings in another, were all the goods contained in the room where Tom, with his father and mother, lived.

Tom's hands and face were generally very dirty; his hair matted; his clothes were in rags, and his feet were without shoes. He often had nothing to eat, and no fire to warm him, however cold the day. Many were the blows and kicks the poor boy received from the rude men and lads who lived in the court.

It was well for him that a Ragged School was established in the neighbourhood, and he was invited to go. He then learned that he had three enemies of which he had not hitherto thought much. These were dirt, ignorance, and sin.

He speedily vanquished the first at a pump. The second he overcame by patient effort at the school. Then Tom became a respectable, happy, and useful young man. Best of all, he sought mercy and help from God, and lived to prove that he had God's smile and blessing.

OUR BIBLE CLASS.

THE GOOD SHEPHERD GATHERING HIS SHEEP.

(JOHN x. 16.)

In the city of Jerusalem, at the Feast of Tabernacles, a few months before His death, Jesus set forth this beautiful parable of the Good Shepherd. He had given sight to a man who from his birth had been blind. The Pharisees, as usual, had shown their hatred of Him, and He then described Himself as the true Leader, beloved and honoured of all believing, obedient souls, declaring that His enemies did not believe Him, because they were not His sheep.

"My sheep hear My voice; I know them, they follow Me, and I lay down My life for them." "And other sheep I have that are not of _this_ [Israelite or Jewish] fold; them also I must bring; and they shall hear My voice, and there shall be one fold and one Shepherd" (John x. 16).

The Jews who listened to those gracious words were much divided in their opinions about them, some declaring that Jesus was mad; others, appealing to the great miracle He had wrought in opening the eyes of the blind; and three months later, at another feast (see ver. 22), their controversy was renewed, and Jesus concluded His striking allegory by saying, "I and My Father are One, and no power shall ever be able to snatch My people from My hand or from His" (ver. 29, 30).

Returning to our text, we find Jesus declaring that all His people are His before they know or love Him.

Up to that time the Jewish Church had been the only earthly fold of believers in the living God, and all the Gentiles who were taught by the Holy Spirit were led to unite with the house of Israel or the people of Judah.

God was Israel's Shepherd (Psa. lxxx. 1). He led His people "like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron" (Psa. lxxvii. 20). They were regarded as "the sheep of His pasture" (Psa. c.), and the world around them were strangers and foreigners, "aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenant of promise."

But among these outcasts Jesus had many sheep. He gathered some in olden times. He came to lay down His life for a great multitude, to be drawn to Himself from every kindred, and tribe, and nation, and tongue. He spoke of them as being already His own--"Other sheep I have, and them also I must bring," or lead. "The Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost." "All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way"; and He who paid the ransom price of His wandering flock, goes after every one for whom He shed His blood.

"He finds them wandering far from God,
And brings them to His chosen fold."

"As many as are led by His Spirit"--the Spirit of God--"they are the children of God," the sheep of the Lord Jesus Christ.

He brings them to feel that they are lost--that they are far off by wicked works--that they are guilty, and weak, and helpless--and thus they are drawn to the Good Shepherd, who can and will deliver them from all evil, and fill them with all good.

And having brought near, He leads in green pastures, beside still waters; and even when the way is less pleasant, He always "leads in the way of righteousness, in the midst of the paths of judgment" (Prov. viii. 20).

"They shall hear My voice," He said, and it is by His voice--His Word spoken to the heart--that He ever leads His people. Three thousand heard it on the day of Pentecost, and were pricked in their heart. Wounded, and imploring forgiving, healing grace, they heard again with gladness, and followed their Lord in baptism (Acts ii. 37-41).

Lydia's heart was opened to receive the glad tidings, and she followed the Good Shepherd; and Jesus leads His disciples all the way home. "In all thy ways," the wise man says, "acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths" (Prov. iii. 6). "These are they that follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth" (Rev. xiv.).

Happy are they who know the sound of that heavenly voice! Have _we_ heard it? It may not be _recognized_ at first, as Samuel heard, but did not know _who_ called him, until his name had been again and again repeated, and Eli had "perceived that the Lord had called the child." But as surely as He speaks, we shall, sooner or later, _know_ His voice, and long and love to hear it.

Then Jesus promises that all His people, of all nations and all ages of time, shall become one flock--one in Jesus; one in heart, and mind, and judgment--and the whole redeemed and gathered flock shall at last dwell in one fold--the fold of heavenly, eternal life and glory.

"From sorrow, care, and pain,
And sin they shall be free,
And perfect love and friendship reign
Through all eternity."

"And there shall be one Shepherd." "Jesus only" shall be seen, acknowledged, and followed. Now He is loved and honoured as the great Chief Shepherd of the sheep, and the ministers of the Gospel are pastors, or shepherds, serving under Him. Christ brings them forth, gives them their work, and blesses their careful labours. But He removes them one by one. He alone abides for evermore. And in the fold above, the pastors appear no more as shepherds, but as sheep, the redeemed and saved people of the Lord.

Yet, wonderful to relate, the one divine Shepherd is called "the Lamb" (Rev. vii. 9-17)--"the Lamb of God," all-seeing and almighty, yet the Lamb that once was slain.

"His life and blood the Shepherd paid,
A ransom for the flock."