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what reasoning would do, but in vain; he grew more and more angry, and insisted on the burning of the book which was the dearest treasure my poor grandmother possessed. She used to say afterwards, that she felt herself tremble, and yet it seemed as if the words she uttered were put into her mind directly from God.

"James,' she said, 'it is a terrible thing you ask me, but I will do it, if you will first let me read to you a few verses from this book you hate so much.' "You will?' he cried.

groan he answered, 'No,' and added, 'God be merciful to me, for I have been as bad as they who crucified Christ Jesus. I believe in Him; I repent of all I have said and done against Him!""

"Is that all, mother?" exclaimed George; and then Mrs. Harding seemed to rouse up to the remembrance of her children, for she had gone back into a long past time, and it was as if she again were hearing the story at her mother's knee.

"All, excepting that it was the day of your greatgrandfather's conversion to God; the day from which

"Yes; for God's words will remain in my heart if he became a new creature in Christ Jesus.' And now, you force me to burn the book which holds them.'

"Go on,' he said, suddenly; and turning the leaves she read to him of the suffering and death of Christ. "When she ceased there was silence, and at first my grandmother durst not look up; when she did so she saw that her husband was lying back with closed eyes, but a tear was forcing its way from beneath the lids and others trickled down his thin pale cheeks. 'Shall I burn my Bible, James?' she asked, and with almost a

my children, you will prize our old family Bible more than ever, I am sure."

"Was that the Bible?" cried the children, gathering round the table where it had lain since their usual evening chapter had been read to them; and I think from each heart went up a little prayer that they might love and prize the Word of God more and more, which was able to make men wise unto salvation, pointing them to Christ, "the life, the truth, and the way."

THE WAGGON-LOAD OF BREAD,

AND OTHER SKETCHES.

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URING the civil war in the United

States a party of soldiers found themselves one night on a battlefield, in charge of a great many wounded soldiers, who, by reason of the sudden retreat of the army, were left wholly without shelter or supplies. Having done their best for the poor fellows-bringing them water from a distant brook, and searching the haversacks of the dead for rations-they began to say to themselves, and to one another, "These weak and wounded men must have food, or they will die. The army is out of reach, and there is no village for many miles: what are we to do?"

In the midst of the dead and dying they held a prayer-meeting.

On their asking the driver where he came from, and who sent him, he replied:-" When I went to bed last

"Pray to God to send us bread," said one.

That night, in the midst of the dead and dying, they held a little prayer-meeting, telling the Lord all about the case, and begging Him to send them bread immediately; though from whence it could come they had not the

most remote idea. All night long they plied their work of mercy. With the first ray of dawn the sound of an approaching waggon caught their ears; and presently, through the mists of the morning, appeared a great Dutch farm waggon, piled to the very top with loaves of bread.

night I knew that the army was cone, and I could not sleep for thinking of the poor fellows who always have to

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stay behind. Something seemed to say to me, 'What will those poor fellows do for something to eat?' It came to me so strong that I waked up my old wife, and told her what was the matter. We had only a little bread in the house; and while my wife was making some more I took my team and went round to all my neighbours, making them get up and give me all the bread in their houses, telling them it was for the wounded soldiers on the battle-field. When I got home my waggon was full; my wife piled her baking on the top, and I started off to bring the bread to the boys, feeling just as if the Lord Himself were sending me."

And the history of every child of God abounds with instances proving that faithful fervent prayer availeth much. If the special answer sought is not given, yet the promise is fulfilled, "The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds, through Christ Jesus."

NOW.

"Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation."-2 CORINTHIANS vi. 2.

EADER! Make sure of a saving interest in Christ now. Why delay? Procrastination is dangerous. In a matter which concerns you so much it is unutterable folly to put off. Surely it is the part of a wise man to have the grand concerns of eternity settled at once.

Delay has a hardening tendeney. Comparatively few are converted when old. The truth does not easily penetrate the thick coating of worldliness wherewith the souls of such are encrusted. It is when the heart is soft and tender that impressions are generally made on it. We must not limit the grace of God. But every one knows that Divine grace commonly acts upon the young and unhardened mind.

Again. Through delay, God may withdraw His Spirit. That Spirit may have been long striving with you. For years you may have felt His drawings. He may have been moving and urging you to turn unto the Lord. You may sometimes have been convinced of the vast importance of the soul and eternity. You may have resolved and re-resolved to give yourself up to a life of decided godliness. You may have gone on your knees and vowed to be the Lord's. All this has been through the workings of the Spirit within you. But you have resisted the Spirit. Instead of cherishing His influences, you have done your best to quench them. And you are still unsaved. What if God should say, "He is joined to idols: let him alone"? How disastrous would be the issue in such a case!

The soul would be left in a state of hopeless impenitence and unbelief.

By delay you are losing the purest happiness. Perhaps you count decided religion a gloomy thing. You fancy that it is associated with all that is severe and repulsive. You suppose that it calls for the giving up of everything that conduces to happiness. But this is a great mistake. Never will you know what true peace is till you cordially embrace the Saviour. You feel a want a deep, constant want in your present condition. And what can fill that void but Jesus Christ? Ask those who have heartily given themselves to Christ what they think of His service. With one voice will they reply that they deem such service perfect freedom. Matthew Henry, a little before his death, said to a friend: "You have been used to take notice of the sayings of dying men; this is mine, that a life spent in the service of God, and communion with Him, is the most comfortable and happy life that any one can live in this world."

By delay you are missing the most favourable opportunities of being saved. In times of awakening what loud calls are given to turn to the Lord! Solemn warnings and precious invitations without number are addressed to you. Others around are being converted. There is a great concern about religion among all classes of society. Never was there so much anxiety about the soul and eternity. Are you unmoved and unstirred by this? If so, then the probability is you will never be moved and stirred at all. It looks as if you were given over to judicial blindness of mind and hardness of heart.

Death may at any moment cut you down, and the delay will prove your ruin. Can you count on an hour more being given you? To-morrow you may be in eternity, where no message of mercy is ever heard. Some, says one, never begin to pray till God has ceased to hear. Reader! Are you keeping away from Christ? Are you still unpardoned? Are you not yet prepared to meet your God? Along the street By-and-by, one gets to the house of Never. It has been so with multitudes. How terrible the thought! it may be so with you.

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MARY DALLY'S POST-BAG.

BY THE REV. CHARLES COURTENAY.

THо didn't know Mary Dally and her donkey. cart? Who didn't know Mary's post-bag?

W

Was there any woman in the whole country round of greater interest? Watched for; recognized half a mile away; eagerly waited for; heartily welcomed; crowded around by young and old; surely she was a marked woman;-surely she was a notable woman.

There were times when Mary felt exceedingly proud of her position, and when her head became a little bit turned with the attention she received. Seated in her donkey-cart, a proud consciousness of power would somehow possess her. Didn't she carry in her bag news that would thrill scores of human hearts ?

There was one letter with a foreign post-mark. Won't old Sally Mitchell's heart leap for joy when her soldier-boy's letter is placed in her trembling hands? There was another letter with something suspiciously like a half-sovereign in it. Poor old Jem Thornton, who wasn't over well off in this world's goods, would be right-down glad of that.

And there was more than one letter for certain young ladies she knew, whose hearts were going pit-apat even then in expectation, and would, before many

minutes were past, be running to some quiet little nook to open and devour their contents.

"Only think of that, now," Mary would say, as some such thoughts as these passed through her mind, "only think they're all waiting for me; that they can't do without me; that they're all eyes and ears at this blessed moment for Mary Dally and her donkey-cart." What a proud, flattering thought it was. No wonder it made Mary look so important.

But, then, it had its dark side too. It wasn't all bright. Hadn't she to drive past certain garden gates, and shake her head very often? Hadn't she to disappoint somebody every round she took? Hadn't she often and often brought the tears to the eyes of both young and old? And wasn't she sometimes bothered out of her life by the persistency with which some folks would insist on Mary's turning out the contents of her bag and seeing if she hadn't made a mistake in saying there was no letter. And when the search ended as she knew all along it must, it wasn't at all pleasant to be frowned upon, as though she had left the letter behind, or made away with it. Just as though Mary could help friends not writing, or the train breaking down, and the mail being late. Surely there are never such unreasonable beings as disappointed people.

Neither was this all. Mary had often to be the bearer of an envelope with black edges. How her heart sank within her as she handed to some mother, or sister, or father, the news of a death in the family, perhaps of the nearest and dearest who could least be spared, and without whom life would be a dreary blank. How it went to her heart to give some bright young soul, who came tripping out to the road side, her face wreathed with smiles, and a bright morning greeting upon her lips, the fatal envelope. The vanishing smile, the rosy cheeks so suddenly paled, the sharp cry of pain, the springing movement so quickly changed for the slow, heavy, step, as with a crushed spirit she returned to the house, these things would cleave to Mary's memory for days.

How she used to pray over her post-bag, and especially over those black-edged letters. "O God! help 'em to bear it. Lord give 'em grace; they 'll want it, Lord, they 'll want it! Help their poor souls to bear it." Little did the poor bereaved souls know how many of Mary's prayers were clinging to the letters they received.

Some people Mary used to feel comfortable about, knowing that they would pray for themselves, and that, whatever news their letters contained, like Hezekiah of old, they would spread them out before the Lord. She could read by their faces what sort of people they were. Eager and yearning their looks were, no doubt, but they were trusting looks too. They seemed to be saying, all the time Mary was foraging in her bag, "The Lord's will be done! the Lord's will be done!" And whether there was a letter or not, and whether the news seemed good or bad, their faces kept calm, and quiet, and restful.

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There was one such lady in particular whom Mary set down in her mind as one of this class. Young and rich, her naturally striking face was made more beautiful by the light of God shining through it. At the time of which I write there was not a morning but she waited for the arrival of the post. She has a brother, a favourite brother, in a far-off land, fighting for his country. There have been bloody battles fought, and officers, as well as men, have fallen. No letter has reached home for some time. The sister's heart above all is trembling for him. And as morning after morning she stands in the warm sunshine, waiting for the post, shading her eyes that she may see the farther, listening intently for the roll of wheels, though there is a yearning deep and strong, there is also a calm conviction that "God doeth all things well."

How often has she been disappointed; and how often has she gone straight to her room and laid her disappointment at the feet of her Lord. She knows not who can calm and comfort if the Lord does not. And now she is at her place again, waiting-waiting with prayer, waiting with submission on her Lord's

will.

"Has God sent the news to-day?" she is asking. her soul.

"Thank God, thank God, there it is at last!" How quickly Mary jumps down! How eagerly she opens her bag! How her head nods with delight as she tells her the long wished-for letter has arrived! And how long she takes in finding it, because in her wonderful pleasure at handing it, she is in too great a hurry, and mixes the letters all up together.

And how they laugh when at last they discover that. the letter which had dropped unnoticed upon the ground was the very letter they had been seeking.

Seals are sooner broken than made-letters are sooner read than written.

Is it well with her loved one?

Better far than she had anticipated. Safe in body, promoted in rank, among the foremost in fight. is well!

This

But, better still, she finds that his soul is safe. Long prayed for, long waited for, long pleaded with, a heart long withheld has at last been placed in the safe keeping of Jesus.

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