and in the depths of sovereign mercy, this hardened old soldier was seized, and brought under the deepest conviction.

For weeks he struggled on, bowing lower and lower, the more fully conscious he became of his lost and ruined condition. At last, sleep forsook him, and all night long, that old soldier, who had bravely faced death at Yorkton, tossed on his pillow in the anguish of despair. As morning dawned, he rose, and having dressed, was about moving towards the "fire-place," when he groaned out in his agony, feeling, as he said, that the weight of sixty years of guilt was crushing him down. Just then the light of a Saviour's pardoning love burst in upon his soul. As he expressed it, a light struck him, which prostrated him to the floor as suddenly as though he had been knocked down with an axe. In that position, his family, in alarm, were about sending for a physician, supposing that he had fallen from an epileptic attack, or something of that character. But the prostrate one cried out, "No, no, send for Mr V- send for Mr V" that minister of Christ, whom he had been so long accustomed to revile and turn away from. And now mark the change. "If any man be in Christ he is a new creature; old things have passed away, and behold all things have become new." Answering to the call, the shepherd of the flock hastened to see that astonished household, and there at the door he was met by the old soldier, and O, what a contrast! The face so long averted from Christ's ambassador, or shaded with a frown, is now all radiant with a light and joy which seem more divine than human. At once the old man grasped his hand, and embraced him, and fell on his neck and wept a good while. Oh, this was wonderful-this was glorious! Here was one indeed, who, like the Apostle, was born, as it were, out of due time," and born, too, "not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God."

Years after, the writer, then a mere lad, recollects the appearance of the old soldier at the prayer and conference meetings; and what excited his childish wonder especially, was the fact that he used to pray with his eyes open. This led to many inquiries of a sainted mother, now in heaven, and she gave him, in substance, the above account of the truly Pauline conversion of "Uncle Christopher W-"-Congregationalist.

NO BACK TRAIN.

A DYING ADDRESS TO THE IMPENITENT.

[THE following address, by Mrs P. P. Merill, was taken down by her brother, as it fell from her dying lips, the Sabbath week before her death; and was read at her funeral, to a large congregation.]

213

But

"My dear impenitent friends, I have a few words to say to you, by way of warning. I was once suddenly called to visit a sick brother. My husband could not accompany me. the most careful arrangements were made that I should not be exposed, with my babe, to any hardship or the evening air. I took the train. All went right till after quietly sitting through a long delay of the train at a certain station. Just as the train was starting I arose, and shewing my card to a conductor, inquired if the next stopping-place would be where I must get out. Why, said he, this is the place. You should have got out here. There had been some slight misunderstanding with those who had made the arrangements, and our careful plans were all thwarted. I saw it at once. My whole frame was agitated. Possibly I might have attempted to run down the steps, had not the conductor prevented. Said I, I can't go on! I can't go on! My babe in my arms. We shall be out in the evening air. My brother will die before I can see him. The man laid his hand on my shoulder; but you must, said he. I saw that I must. Well, what shall I do? You can go on to the next station, and stop for the return train, or keep the carriage, go on to the end of the line, and return in it. I chose the latter. By the favour of Providence, and the kindness of the conductor, I arrived safely that night at the home of a sister, though this was not the place I intended to stop at. To my surprise, I found my baggage there. A coachman had recognised the baggage as belonging to the relatives of my sister's family, and carried it there, telling them he guessed I was on the way.

"I have now a comparison to make. The impenitent sinner makes all his arrangements carefully for this world; but labouring under one mistake, he sits quietly enjoying himself, not recognising the place where he should leave the pleasures of the world, till by some slight occurrence, or perhaps sudden illness or accident, he perceives that he has been quiet when he should have been bestirring himself. Like me, he is thrown into the greatest agitation. I have often drawn the comparison in my own mind. He cries, I cannot go. God lays His hand upon him, and says, but you must. He sees that he has been quiet too long. In his agitation, crying, I cannot go, he is hurried away with more than the speed of the train from the spot where he might have left the ways of sin.

"But there are some points of contrast also. I could take a return train and in part retrieve my misfortune. But, my friends, remember there is no back train from Perdition; no back train from Perdition. Oh, if there were, how should we see it loaded down, hurrying back into this world of misery! The rich man would be on. Many, whom we little thought to have gone that way, would be there. But I forbear. You must imagine for yourselves.

"I met my baggage, and all was right. You, if lost, are separate from yours for ever. Christ has marked it. His eye is upon it. And though for awhile He has permitted you to call it yours, He will use it for His own glory. For all the wealth of the world is His, and when the mountains shall cease to serve Him, with a fervent heat He will melt them down with all their gold and silver."

FOR THE AFFLICTED.

THE first and principal thing religiously to be remembered in the beginning of sickness is, that the soul do call herself to a serious account of sins past, of the evil committed, and the good omitted: remembering that of the Prophet, “I said I will confess against myself my own unrighteousness." (Psalm xxxii. 9.) Therefore, by ancient decree, in former time, the sick was enjoined, before sending for the physician, to make first a contrite confession, and humble acknowledgment of his sins; as if his sins were the cause of our sicknesses: and surely this decree was very respectively held in use. We will open our griefs and sores to the physician of the body; and when we humble ourselves under the hand of God, we open our sins to the Physician of our souls, who can best apply the best medicine the mercies of Christ Jesus. -Christopher Sutton (1600).

CONCERNING THE FATHERLY AFFECTION AND LOVE OF GOD.

1. You know and confess, that God to all, but to Christian men especially, carrieth the affection of a father toward His children. 2. You know also, that a father, whether he maketh much of his child, or whether he chasten him, continueth a father in both; and loveth him in the one, no less than in the other. 3. Think the same of God, as touching yourself; that while He gave you good days, He loved you; and that now He sendeth you some evil, He loveth you also, and would not have sent this evil, but to be a cause unto you of a greater good; that being called home thereby, you might be at peace with Him.

Say, Before I was troubled, I went wrong; but now shall I learn Thy Word. (Psalm cxix. 67.)-Andrews.

THAT flower which follows the sun, doth so even in cloudy days: when it doth not shine forth, yet it follows the hidden course and motion of it. So the soul that moves after God, keeps that course when He hides His face; is content, yea, is glad at His will in all estates or conditions or events.

No scourge carries a power of changing the heart with it; that is a superadded work. Many people and particular persons, have been beat as in a mortar with variety of afflictions, one coming thick upon another,

and yet are never the wiser, and yet "have not returned unto ME, saith the Lord."

Therefore, if you be afflicted, join prayer with your correction, and beg by it, that God would join His Spirit with it. Seek this in earnest, else you shall be not a whit the better, but shall still endure the smart, and not reap the fruit thereof. Yea, I believe, some are the worse, even by falsely imagining they are better, partly presuming it must be so, and partly, may-be, feeling some present motions and meltings, in the time of afflictions, which evanish and presently cool when they are off the fire. Ay, but these two together make a happy man; "Blessed is he whom Thou correctest, and teachest out of Thy law." (Psalm xciv. 12.)-Leighton.

PRAYER IN THE BEGINNING OF SICKNESS.

O heavenly Father, who, in Thy wisdom, knowest what is best for me, glory be to Thee. I know, O my God, Thou sendest this sickness on me for my good, even to humble and reform me; oh, grant that it may work that saving effect in me!

Lord, create in me a true, penitent sorrow for all my sins past, a steadfast faith in Thee, and sincere resolutions of amendment for the time to come.

Deliver me from all frowardness and impatience, and give me an entire resignation to Thy divine will; oh, suffer not the disease to take away my senses, and do Thou continually supply my thoughts with holy ejaculations! Lord, bless all the means that are used for my recovery, and restore me to my health in Thy good time; but if otherwise Thou hast appointed for me, Thy blessed will be done! Oh, wean my affection from all things below, and fill me with ardent desires after heaven! Lord, fit me for Thyself, and then call me to those joys unspeakable and full of glory, when Thou pleasest; and that for the sake of Thy only Son Jesus, my Saviour.-Kenn.

EJACULATIONS IN TIME OF SICKNESS.

Father, if it be possible, remove this cup from me; nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done. (Matt. xxvi. 39.)

Trouble and heaviness have taken hold upon me, but my sure trust is in Thee, O Lord.

Forsake me not, O my God, when my strength faileth me: haste Thee to help me, O Lord God of my salvation. (Psalm xxxviii. 21, 22.)

O heavenly Father, my hope is wholly in Thy mercy, and in the merits and sufferings of my Saviour; oh, for His sake, forgive and save me!-Kenn.

A Christian is like the firmament, and it is the darkness of affliction that makes his graces to shine out. He is like those herbs and plants that best effuse their odours when bruised.—Jay.

215

THE HARD WAY.

"FRANK, I have got one more errand for you; then you may go and play all the rest of the afternoon."

"Yes, father, thank you, what is it?" Frank's father went round behind the counter and drew out a little drawer from under it. In the meantime Frank had come up to the opposite side of the counter. His father handed him a half-crown, saying:"You may carry this to widow Boardman. Be careful not to lose it."

"Yes, sir, I will," said Frank, and then went outdoors. It was the first day of vacation. Frank felt very happy as he trudged along the road. He was thinking of the fine times ahead-two weeks and no school! Perhaps the pleasant day, the fresh air, and the sunlight, had something to do with making him happy. Sunshine generally makes us feel more pleasant than clouds. But something else helped to make Frank happy, although he was not thinking about it. He had been a good boy. He had done right and was doing right. It makes a wonderful difference with a boy's feelings whether he knows that he is doing right, or whether there is the uneasy feeling of sin in his heart. He can have no quiet satisfaction with this feeling.

Mrs Boardman lived at some distance up the road. Frank had already got by the school-house, and the little pond, and was just passing the willow grove, when, all of a sudden, it came into his head to make himself a whistle to blow along the way. So, putting the half-crown into his jacket pocket, he climbed over the fence and cut several of such willow twigs as he thought would be suitable for his purpose. He did not make the whistle there, but went along with the twigs in his hand, till he reached a log lying on a grass plat by the roadside. Here he sat down and made two whistles. They sounded admirably.

As he shut the widow's gate, he put his hand in his pocket to take out the half-crown, so that he might have it ready for her when she should come to the door. It was not there. Thinking he had felt the wrong pocket, he put his hand in the other, fully expecting to feel the half-crown between his fingers immediately. It was not there. Frank felt a little alarmed. Could he have lost it? He searched carefully every pocket, but it was not to be found. He turned around and went slowly back, looking carefully along the road for the lost half-crown. He searched around the log, in the willow grove, by the roadside, every step of the way, but no half-crown was to be seen. He went over the road again with no

better success. At length he sat down upon the log, feeling very badly, to consider what he should do."

The half-crown was lost, there was no doubt of that. His father had told him to be careful, and he had not been. Now, what should he do? His first thought was to go back to the store, and tell his father all about it. This he felt would be the right way; but he disliked to go, for he knew that his father would blame him and perhaps would punish him. Boys dislike to be punished, whether they deserve it or not. In fact, Frank had a feeling very common-that of drawing back from a disagreeable duty. Was there no other way? He stayed to think. Ah! here was a great fault! Frank knew that he had found the right path, but, instead of pursuing it immediately, he waited and cast about to find another, easier way of getting out of the difficulty. An easier way! Oh, what a mistake! There was no road easier than the right road. There never is. Frank thought he would not go to his father then. He would go and play with the boys awhile. Perhaps his father might never know it. At any rate he would not tell him then. So he got up and walked slowly toward the school-house green. How differently everything seemed to him! The warm summer day, the blue sky, the grass, the trees, the very air-all were changed. A few minutes ago they all looked bright and pleasant, but now not so. The change was in his own heart. An uneasy feeling of wrongdoing made him unhappy. enjoy the summer day.

He was not fit to

Pretty soon he reached the school-house and engaged with the other boys in play. But still the unhappy feeling remained in his heart. Once in a while, to be sure, he would forget his sin and laugh as loudly as the merriest. But the remembrance soon came back to trouble him. There was no peace. At night he went home and sat down at the supper table with the rest. Soon after the blessing had been asked, while his brothers and sisters were talking with each other about what they had been doing through the day, his father turned to him and said:

"O Frank, did you carry the half-crown?" "Yes, sir," said Frank.

The question was asked so suddenly that he had no time to make up his mind what to answer. He felt then less like telling the truth than he had at first. It seemed too hard. He thought to take the easier way by answering "yes." The easier way! Poor boy, he had not learned yet that it was the hard way. He had already, during the afternoon, suffered more than if he had gone to his father

at the first and frankly told him all. And now he had made the matter far worse by telling a lie about it. Pretty soon after supper he went up stairs to bed. But when he repeated his evening prayer, he could not help feeling that God did not listen to him, and that he had no right to pray while he kept on in this wrong course. He passed a restless, dreamy night.

In the morning he woke up to find the sun shining broadly into his room. He leaped out of bed in high spirits and began dressing, thinking over at the same time some schemes for the day. But very soon the remembrance of the lost half-crown came into his mind, and blotted out at once all his happy feelings. It brought back the old wretchedness.

The day went by slowly and wearily. Frank was continually troubled by the fear of his father's finding out about the half-crown, and still more by the consciousness of his own guilt; and yet he found it harder and harder every hour to make up his mind that he would tell all about the matter, and bear such punishment as his father might inflict upon him. In the evening he could endure it no longer. The easy way had indeed become the hard way. While sitting by the parlour window he made up his mind to go and confess the whole thing. He started toward the study, where his father was. Once on the way thither his courage almost failed him; but he kept steadily on. Every new step toward the right gave him new strength. He opened the study door and came up to the table, where his father sat writing.

"Well, Frank," said he, kindly, “what is it?"

"O father," said Frank, but he could not go on. He bowed his head upon the table, and bursting into tears sobbed and wept as though his heart would break. His father with tears in his own eyes gently tried to soothe him. In a few minutes Frank raised his head and began again:

"I want to tell you, father,"-but it was too much. A fresh burst of crying interrupted his words, as the thought of his father's kindness, and his own wretchedness and wickedness came over his mind.

he might have spared himself a great deal of uneasiness, and sorrow, and sin, and his father considerable pain and anxiety, by only choosing the right way at first. He told his father so, and decided in his own mind never to choose the foolish course again. His father freely forgave him, and then they knelt together and asked forgiveness of God.

Frank's punishment was that he should earn a half-crown as soon as he could and carry it to Mrs Boardman in the place of the half-crown lost. Accordingly Frank set about earning his half-crown, and before vacation was over, he carried it with a light heart and gave it to Mrs Boardman. But the strangest part of the whole matter was this. While Frank was returning from Mrs Boardman's, his shoe struck something; he looked down and saw-the very half-crown he had lost. Frank's father had found out about the loss in the following way :-After sending Frank he started on some business for a place beyond Mrs Boardman's, but went by another road. On his way back he saw his son walking slowly along and looking down as if searching for something on the road. Thinking it might be the half-crown, he stepped into Mrs Boardman's and asked her if Frank had been there. He had not. He waited all the afternoon, hoping that Frank would come and tell him about it. At night he asked him, still hoping that, when asked, he would confess the loss. The result has been seen. The punishment was not for the loss but for the falsehood. It only remains to say that Frank did not after this choose the hard way again.

"

ANSWERS TO BIBLE QUESTIONS FOR
THE YOUNG.

No. 13.-Job xxxviii. 17.—Matt. ii. 9.-Matt. ii. 9.-Rev. viii. 10, 11.-Gen. xxii. 17.—Rev. xxii. 16.-2 Pet. i. 19.-Num. xxiv. 17.—Dan. xii. 3.-1 Cor. xv. 41.

No. 14.-Exod. xii. 3.-Exod. xii. 22.-Heb. ix. 22.-Gen. xxii. 7.-Num. vii. 17.-Num. v. 7.-Isa. liii. 7.-Isa. xi. 6.-John i. 36.-Isa. xl. 11.-John xxi. 15.-Rev. vi. 16.-Rev. vii. 14.-1 Sam. xii. 3.-Rev. v. 6.-Rev. v. 12.

"Yes, sir," sobbed Frank.

"And now, my poor, dear boy, you have been suffering all this time, and I have been longing to have you come and tell me about your fault and be forgiven-and all this because you wanted to take a way easier than the right way; and yet you have found it a great deal harder."

Frank saw now that he had. He saw that

i. 11, 12.-Acts viii. 36.-Neh. ix. 15.-1 Cor. x. 4.-Rev. xxii. 17.-Rev. xxi. 6.-John vii. 37.

No. 16.-Ezra viii. 22.-2 Chron. xxv. 13.— Acts xii. 4.-Acts xii. 19.-Acts xii. 6.-Luke iii. 14.-Luke xxiii. 36.-John xix. 32.-John xix, 33.-Acts xxiii. 10.-Acts xxvii. 42.Acts xxiii. 23.-Acts xxviii. 16.-Matt. xxvii. 27.-Luke xxiii. 36.-John xix. 24.-Matt. xxviii. 12, 13.-Acts x. 7.-Luke vii. 2, 8.— Luke vii. 3, 6, 7.—Eph. vi.—2 Tim. ii. 3.

WEEKLY NOS. ONE HALFPENNY.]

[MONTHLY PARTS, THREEPENCE.

1. THE first decision of common sense in regard to religion is, that the relation of a man to his Maker is a matter of consequence enough to his happiness and welfare, to demand careful thought. "Do nothing rashly" is one of the cardinal principles of common sense, in regard to all matters of life, and it is obvious that every thing in life must be done rashly until religion is looked at, and its claims are adjusted properly to all those circumstances with which it has to do. In the absence of thought in regard to it, some golden opportunity may be wasted past redemption every day.

2. But, in thinking about religion, the first conclusion to which common sense comes is, that there is a God. She cannot explain effects without causes, and she cannot imagine this universe without a wise, all-powerful, all-kind, Maker and Upholder, and Him he calls God. With Him all the crooked things of the world are made straight; without Him, all is desolation and emptiness.

3. But, if there is a wise, and powerful, and benevolent Being, who created and carries on this system of things, then common sense includes itself among His effects, and decides that He is its creator, preserver, and constant benefactor; that it is in Him, and of Him, and through Him, and to Him, that all things live, and move, and have their being. Since it is not common sense that anything should be made in vain, it seems to be clear that each of us was made for some purpose-a purpose having existence in the mind of God, and so related to Him, and to us, that we become successes or failures, as we perform or fail to perform His appointed will.

4. But, if God made us, and made us on purpose that we might obediently do and be just what He made us to do and be, it must be right for us to be and to do according to His desire and plan for us. We should say, when a manufacturer has spent years of time, and

No. 19.

vast amounts of money in perfecting a machine which shall weave silk for him in gorgeous patterns, that it would neither be kind nor right for that machine (if it had the power of selfcontrol) to set itself to the coarser and undesired work of weaving cotton or wool. It is not made for that; it is not desired to do that. It is wasting its own energies, and defrauding its inventor of the rightful results of his ingenious effort. It is common sense, then, that men should question God as to His will for them, and having ascertained what it is, yield to it unquestioned and unfaltering obedience.

5. But, in deciding that God's will is right and binding on us, common sense necessarily decides that we are wrong in our daily practice. For she knows that the will of God is the last, the very last thing that man naturally stops to think of; she knows that she does not, has never taken it as the chart by which to steer her daily voyage on life's great and tempestuous sea. Therefore she knows, and she cannot deny, even to her own thoughts, that she is exactly in the position toward God in which a mutineer is toward the owners of the ship which he has seized, and whose cargo and voyage he has taken into his own hands, in defiance of their will. And as she would say that such a mutineer ought to be hanged, if he had piratically broken up a voyage on which her fortune was depending; she cannot deny that two things are true of her also, as toward God, viz.:-she ought no longer, not even for one moment, to pursue her mutiny against the Divine will, and she deserves, and of right ought to receive punishment for her past transgression. And as she meditates upon her gloomy position before God, she becomes satisfied that she has not in her position the data for deciding what her punishment justly should be. She feels that she has so imperfect an acquaintance with the plans she has thwarted; so feeble a perception