cabman, "I'll never sell him to end his days in misery; no, if we must part, I'll have him shot at once, so he'll have a happy home to the last."

So master and horse went together to the manager of the Zoological Gardens, as perhaps you know it is necessary to buy horse-flesh for the animals' food, and two pounds are generally paid for every horse brought for that purpose. "This horse is much too good," said Mr. Bartlett; "there is work in him still; I will give you a higher price for him alive than dead."

But the cabman steadily refused, saying that he would not have him ill-treated for any money; and, as he could no longer work for him, he would rather he ended his days altogether. At last, after much persuasion, he yielded the point, and this was the bargain the horse was to be employed in some very easy labour about the gardens, was never to be parted with, and the old master was to be allowed to come and see him and judge of his condition as often as he liked.

So, for six years from this time, the cabman and his wife came once a week, without ever failing, to pay a visit to their favourite, bringing him apples and sugar in their pockets, and being always received. with the greatest marks of pleasure and recognition which a horse could show.

I should like to have known this cabman, should not you? for he was a "merciful man." When our Saviour says, "Blessed are the merciful," perhaps He did not only mean being merciful to each other. The Bible words always take in all, as it were, and I think He must have intended to include that lower world of living creatures, which must be dear to Him, because His hand has created them and fashioned them so wondrously. "Be ye therefore merciful (to them), as your Father also is merciful."

ALL AT FULL LENGTH.

M. K. M.

N books and newspapers, when we come to a stroke like this

or perhaps to one letter with such a stroke after it, it generally means an oath, or some other bad word, which the author would not put down full because it was so bad.

But there is a book in which there are no strokes, but all the bad words which people say are put down at full length. It is a book which no man has ever read. But everything that is in it will come out one day.

It is the book of God's remembrance; the book, or books, of which it is said, "And the books were opened and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books."

length: all the sins, all the oaths, all the bad words, all the wicked thoughts.

Are there any bad words written there against your name? Any oaths, such as would be put down in a common book, or a newspaper, with a ? Ask God to forgive you for them. Pray that the blood of Jesus may blot them out. They must be blotted out before the books be opened, or you are lost! And nothing can do it but that precious blood. Oh, seek it, and then go and sin no more.

WHO HAS SEEN CHRIST IN YOU, TO-DAY?

E parson asked a strange question this evening," said John Sewell to his wife Ann, on his return from church on Sunday.

"What was it, John ?"

"Who has seen Christ in you,

to-day?' I wish you had been there to hear him, Ann; he made it pretty plain that all who love Christ ought to show by their conduct that they are in earnest." "That's true, John. I know I often fall short of what a Christian should be."

"The boot pinched me, I can tell you, for I'm sure you and the children haven't seen Christ in me to-day. If I'd remembered to be like my Master, I should not have been so cross with you, because you wanted to take your turn out this morning."

"And I shouldn't have snapped you up and been vexed," interrupted Ann.

"Then I used Tom roughly because he worried me, and when he cried I boxed his ears, when a kind word would have made all right. There's lots of things I shouldn't have done, even to-day, if I'd acted up to the parson's question."

"We'll try and begin fresh, John. You're quick, and I get vexed. We've both a deal to learn. We must just pray that the children and our friends may see Christ in us."

Monday morning came. John was up early, and before he went off to work he asked that Christ might be seen in him that day. Ann did not forget that she too wished that Christ might be seen in her; and at breakfast time the children were told how Christ might be seen in them, and they were cautioned to be kind and loving towards one another, and towards their companions.

Thus through the family, tempers were quelled for Christ's sake, and pleasant acts were performed for Christ's sake; and John was able, in that same strength, to ask a fellow-workman to forgive the sharp words he had spoken to him on the previous Saturday.

"I've had the happiest day I ever spent," John remarked to his wife that evening. "I know I've

behaviour that I do really want Jesus to be seen in me."

Ann.

them no better

We Christians We Christians

"I know now why some of our fellows in the shop find fault with religious people, and call than those who have no religion at all. are not shining lights; we get into the same tempers, and use the same sharp words, and do the same actions as men of the world, and so we bring reproach on Jesus."

"That's well said, John. I mean to ask myself every night, Who has seen Christ in me, to-day?' I know that I shall often have to tell God that I've failed, but Jesus will help me to be true to Him, and you know there's a text which says, 'I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me."

"Am I to blame?" At last he became uneasy, and in his awakening went to the right place for help. He prayed earnestly to be enlightened and taught of the Holy Spirit.

He was reading his Bible one morning, and thinking over a particular text, when these words flashed before him-"Cease from thine own works; only believe." In a moment he realised that he had been teaching salvation in his own way, and not in Christ's way. He began afresh, and proclaimed Jesus Christ and faith in Him as the one great atonement made for the sins of the world.

Before long many believers were added to the Church, and people came from other places to hear the

JOHN BERRIDGE.

NCE I went to Jesus as a coxcomb, and gave myself fine airs, fancying, if He were something, so was I; if He had merit, so had I. I used Him as a healthy man will use a walking-stick, lean an ounce upon it, and vapour with it in the air. But now He is my whole crutch; no foot can stir a step without Him. He is my all, as He ought to be, if He will become my Saviour, and bids me cast all my care on Him."

These words were written by John Berridge, the Vicar of Everton. He was the son of a rich farmer who lived in Nottinghamshire. He left school at the age of fourteen to help his father; but the latter soon found that John would hinder rather than help him, for he never seemed nearer learning the value of sheep and pigs.

"I find you cannot form an idea of the price of cattle, John," he said to his son one day. "I shall have to send you to college, to be a light to the Gentiles."

So to Clare College, Cambridge, John was sent when he reached his eighteenth year. After a time he was elected Fellow of his college; but he reached the age of thirty-three before he became a preacher of the Gospel and accepted the curacy of Stapleford.

He laboured here for six years, but no conversions followed his ministry, for he was himself a stranger to the truth as it is in Jesus. He preached about Christ, but Christ was not then, as he says, "his whole crutch."

The living of Everton in Bedfordshire was given to him in the year 1755, where he resided for thirtyeight years. He began his ministry at Everton by teaching his people they could win heaven by their own merit, and not that Christ alone was able to

save.

John Berridge now burnt his old sermons, and preached from memory. Nor did he merely keep to his own parish; but in all the country round he spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ and Him crucified. He lived to the age of seventy-seven. He was kept in perfect peace to the end, and looked forward with joy to be for ever with the Lord who had redeemed him. He fixed on the spot in Everton Churchyard where he would be buried, and wrote the epitaph for his grave, leaving a space for the date of his death to be added. It runs thus:

IVING quite retired from the scenes of public and active life, as I was driving in a nail the other day, I thought to myself, all I want of that nail is to be still and hold on. I should be much dissatisfied with that nail if, in the wish to be useful, it should leave its place and go bustling over the house, interfering with the comfort and endangering the safety of the household.

Then I thought there were some human nails, and I concluded I was one; so here I am, waiting to hold whatever may be hung upon me, that's all.

THEN WE SHALL KNOW.

HEN we get up on the mountains, we shall see why." I turned to look at the speaker; for it was one of the common trials of life

of which we were speaking, and I did not know that I understood aright; but the calm look of heavenly trust assured me, and I admired, as I had often before, my friend's desire to acknowledge Divine wisdom in every event of life that is permitted to take place, however small.

"On the mountains!" Ah, what wonders shall we then behold! With what now unimagined intelligence shall we look down upon the paths from which we shall then have ascended, and admire the wondrous Wisdom that guided us through the dark and difficult places. Could we but always look up, instead of stopping to tremble and shudder by the way, how much easier would be the ascent. Truly, as some writer has said, "Our tears hinder us from seeing the way clearly."

God help us to be brave amid these life-trials, and to walk firmly, until the danger is past, and high up in the eternal home we rest safely.

66

SAM'S ARITHMETIC.

OME, Sam, let's go in and take a little. Old Bob keeps the best cask in town. Come along; a little drop will do you good." "Jim, I have been thinking this matter over since I saw you last, and I can't do it. The fact is, Jim, I mean to give up drinking, and I hope you will never see me take a drop again. Besides, I have been figuring on this matter, and what do you suppose it costs us to patronise old Bob?"

"Well, two or three shillings a week, I suppose," said Jim.

Sam, taking a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket-book, handed them to Jim, and said, "Let us

look at it fully, and make a fair calculation. You deposit

Your money-and lose it.

Your time-and lose it.

Your character-and lose it.

Your health of body-and lose it.

Your strength of mind-and lose it.

Your manly independence-and lose it.

Your self-respect and lose it.

Your sense of right and wrong-and lose it.
Your self-control-and lose it.

Your home comfort-and lose it.

Your wife's happiness-and lose it.

Your children's rights-and lose it.

Your country's honour-and lose it.

Your own soul-and lose it."

"Well, Sam, I never saw it in that light before. Come, let's go and sign the pledge together."

The two friends did so, and of one thing we may be certain that they never regretted the step they then took together.

ALMOST TOO LATE.

OM HOLLIS led a busy life. He owned a little farm called the Oaks, about two miles from Welwyn, Hertfordshire. He had a nice bright wife, and three pretty, good-tempered children. He lived in the days of stage coaches, when the roads were bad and people did not travel about as now, and when it was quite an event to go to London.

The farmer never left home, he disliked strange faces and strange places too much. Though the journey between Welwyn and London occupied only a few hours, he had but once in his life been to the great metropolis. He had no pleasant remembrance of his visit; it comprised some of the saddest days he had ever spent.

"One thing happening will tempt me to London again," Tom said to his wife.

"I understand," she answered.

"Yes, you know, Susan. If Nelly ever should come back and ask me to go and see her, I would set off to London or anywhere else within reasonable distance."

"Poor Tom!" replied Mrs. Hollis, softly, "I wish

Nelly would come back to us, for your sake as well as her own. I'm afraid you will never hear of her again. She must have been a widow for four years; surely she would seek help from you if she were alive."

"I often think so, yet I never forget to pray that she may come. I always finish up with Thy will be done,' for God knows best, Susan."

Nelly Hollis had left her brother's home ten years before the time of which we write. She ran away to London, and married a man who was not worthy of her. Tom followed her, but was too late to prevent her having her own way. He came home with a heavy heart, and this was why he never cared to repeat his visit to London. He said to his sister at parting, "If ever you want a friend, remember I love you."

Nelly believed in the wisdom of the choice she had made, and was very angry, and quite sure Tom judged her harshly. Four months later she wrote a few lines to say she was starting that day, with her husband, to America. Six years passed before further tidings came of her, and then Tom learnt, in a roundabout way, that she was a widow. More he did not know, and he could only wonder what Nelly was doing; how she was living; and sometimes he feared his wife was right, and that he would never more hear of his sister.

The season had been a good one for the farmers, and the harvest supper was fixed for no very distant date. It was the last day of August. Tom's heart was full of thankfulness when he rose in the morning. He owned God's hand in all that befell him; he thanked Him for the fine weather, and for his good crops; and, as he breathed the sweet morning air, he exclaimed,