applied to anything we can do for Him who came down from heaven and died for us."

Five months before his death he penned the following: "The spirit of missions is the spirit of our Master, the very genius of His religion. A diffusive philanthropy is Christianity itself. It requires perpetual propagation to attest its genuineness."

In June, 1852, Livingstone commenced his wonderful march, first to the Cape, thence to St. Paul de Loanda, the capital of Angola, on the west coast, and thence across the continent in an oblique direction to Kilimane, in the east, near the mouths of the Zambesi. His first great journey, embracing 11,000 miles, was successfully accomplished without the advantages of ample means having nothing but a few faithful followers chosen from the Makololo, over whom his heart yearned with a father's love. His prayers for them are now being answered in the establishment of the Lake Nyassa Mission, to which the hearts of the Scottish people have happily been drawn.

Livingstone felt that on the Anglo-American race the hope of the world for liberty and progress must depend. The Bible, which he calls the Magna Charta of the rights and privileges of modern civilisation, with the inborn energy of Britain to develop the resources of a country, he relied upon as the means by which Africa was to be raised. He felt his work was that of a pioneer, to go before and to reveal the mighty rivers and the great chain of inland lakes as the path ways by which commercial relationships were to be opened up, carried on, and extended. None knew the difficulties as he did; none knew better the blighting, crushing influence of the slave trade, and that Christianity and lawful commerce could alone redeem the African race.

The names of Susi and Chumah will ever be indissolubly associated with Dr. Livingstone, for their heroic march from Ilala to the coast. They displayed tact, sagacity, and shrewdness in fulfilment of their selfimposed task, which was prompted by love, faithfulness, and reverence to the memory of the explorer, whose privations, toils, and dangers they had shared for so many years. It was not in vain that they had "companied" so long with Dr. Livingstone, when it had inspired them to show to the world that Africans could exhibit true heroism and devotion, when the occasion demanded. To them we owe it that his body rests with the illustrious dead in Westminster Abbey —a national tribute and a national lesson.

Among others, this expedition included the Rev. Charles Livingstone, a man in every respect worthy of his brother, at whose invitation he had come from America after a ministry of seventeen years there. Strangely enough, he died within four months of his brother, seeking on the west coast of Africa, while acting as British consul, to establish friendly relationships with the seaboard and interior tribes, with the view of extending to them the blessings of commerce. In this capacity he had actively co-operated with the

missionaries in their efforts to extend Christianity, and was often the means of averting war.

It was while on his second expedition that Dr. Livingstone lost his beloved partner, the daughter of the venerable patriarch Dr. Moffatt, who spent fifty-four years of his life in Africa. For the greater part of sixteen years Mrs. Livingstone shared her husband's anxieties, privations, toils, hardships, and sufferings. Writing to his friend Sir Roderick Murchison, Dr. Livingstone said: "I must confess that this heavy stroke quite takes the heart out of me. Everything else that has happened only made me more determined to overcome all difficulties; but after this sad stroke, I feel crushed and void of strength. I married her

...

...

for love, and the longer I lived with her I loved her the more. A good wife and a good, brave, kindhearted mother was she, deserving all the praises you bestowed upon her. .. I try to bow to the blow as from our Heavenly Father, who orders all things for us... I shall do my duty still, but it is with a darkened horizon that I again set about it." We have a touching record in his Last Journals of how dear his wife's memory was to him. When he reached Lake Bangweolo he saw a forest grave, and he remarks: "This is the sort of grave I should prefer: to lie in the still, still forest, and no hand ever disturb my bones. . . . But I have nothing to do, but wait till He who is over all decides where I have to lay me down and die. Poor Mary lies on Shupanga brae and beaks fornent the sun. A right straightforward woman, no crooked way was ever hers, and she could act with decision and energy when required," is the Doctor's graphic summing up of his wife's life. What more need be said?

Before he finally resolved on his last journey, it was not of himself he thought, but his motherless children, whose education he desired to direct. The pain of separation, for ever on this earth, as it proved, can be but imperfectly realised. What over-mastered all was that it was borne in upon his heart that his Heavenly Father had laid upon him a work from which he could not shrink, and for which the dearest earthly ties must be severed. Sustained by the Master's promise, "Every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands for My name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life," he set out on his last great journey.

The Rev. Chancy Maples tells how he met a native who had on his shoulder an old coat, mouldy and partially eaten away, but evidently of English make and material. On asking where the coat came from, he was told that it was given him by "a white man who treated black men as his brothers, whose words were always gentle, and whose manners were always kind, whom as a leader it was a privilege to follow, and who knew the way to the hearts of all men." It proved to be Dr. Livingstone's coat, and the rude African had kept the coat for ten years in memory of the giver. The incident reveals not only the character of Livingstone, but also that of the African.

LIFE'S ANSWER.

KNOW not if the dark or bright
Shall be my lot;

If that wherein my hopes delight,
Be best or not.

It may be mine to drag for years
Toil's heavy chain;

Or day and night my meat be tears
On bed of pain.

Dear faces may surround my hearth
With smiles and glee;

Or I may dwell alone, and mirth
Be strange to me.

My bark is anchored to the strand
By breath Divine,

And on the helm there rests a Hand
Other than mine.

One who has known in storm to sail,
I have on board;

Above the raging of the gale

I hear my Lord.

PREPARING TO MEET GOD.

F we were expecting a call to go into the presence of some great king on earth, we should prepare to meet him. If we were looking for a summons to appear before a judge and answer a serious accusation brought against us, we should prepare our answer to the charge. If we were about to go to some rich and powerful man to ask a great favour at his hands, we should make preparation for the interview.

But how many there are who never think of preparing to meet their God. They think less of meeting. Him than of their earthly master or benefactor. They act towards Him with less respect and concern than towards their fellow-creatures. Yet He is the King of all kings, the Lord of all lords. His sentence will decide our eternal state. It will either raise us to heavenly joy or cast us down to hell. We cannot escape Him, we cannot resist Him. We must meet Him, and that very soon. When and how we cannot tell. He may come to meet us in the judgments of His providence, and He will call us to meet Him by the summons of death. Oh, let us then prepare to meet Him! But how? Only in one way can we do so-by believing in His dear Son and seeking acceptance through Him. Then we can meet Him without fear, and say, "This is our God; we have waited for Him, and He will save."

THE IMPORTUNATE PRAYER.

READ LUKE xi. 5–10.

N unexpected visitor arrives, in the middle of the night, at the house of a friend, and seeks lodging and food; but he finds his friend illprepared to receive him, for he has nothing in the house. Hospitality, however, has always been thought a great duty in the East; the friend, therefore, goes to a neighbour's house, and asks him for bread to set before the stranger. But it is midnight, and the door is shut, and the neighbour and his family have all retired to rest. "Trouble me not," he answers from within. "I cannot rise and give thee." But the other man is not so easily sent away. He knocks again, and repeats his request; and this perhaps many times, till at length his neighbour, tired of refusing, gets up, though with no good grace, and gives him what he

wants.

By this story or parable our Lord teaches us to be importunate, or persevering in prayer. It arose in this way Jesus Himself was praying, and His disciples saw Him: and when He left off, one of them came and said, "Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples." Then our Lord taught them what we call "The Lord's Prayer," and immediately after spoke this parable to them, thus teaching them not only how to pray, but also that they must persevere in praying, not content with asking once, but asking again and again.

The man in the parable would not get up at the first request. He heard his friend's voice, and knew his wants, but was unwilling to trouble himself to rise. It pleases God sometimes not to answer our prayers at first. It seems as if they were not heard; nay, discouraging circumstances may even lead us to fear that our petition is refused like that in the parable. But there is this great difference: the man was unwilling, God is never unwilling. The man's friendship was but an imperfeet friendship. If it had been daytime, and he had been up and about, he would have lent the loaves without grudging; but he would not put himself to the trouble of rising at midnight. The kindness of God, on the other hand, is perfect and unfailing. If, therefore, our first prayers seem to receive no answer, it is not because God is unwilling to grant our request. If it be really for our good, He is quite willing to grant it, and willing from the very first; and He is as able as He is willing. Even the man in the parable was able. His "I cannot " meant, in truth, "I will not." God is both able and willing.

Again, the man would not rise because the time was unseasonable; but no time is unseasonable with God. "Evening and morning and at noon will I pray and cry aloud," said David, "and He shall hear my voice." "At midnight I will rise to give thanks unto Thee." Time and place make no difference with God. Every place may be a place of prayer, and every time a time for praying. Prayer to God is never unseasonable.

"Call upon Me," He says, "in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me." Whenever the day of trouble may come, then and there we are to call upon God. And though He may not deliver us at once, it is not because we have called upon Him at a wrong time. There is no wrong time for prayer provided it is a time of need. No time is unseasonable with God; His kindness is perfect; He is always willing to hear and bless. Surely, then, He will not turn a deaf ear to us when we call upon Him again and again. If persevering prayer prevailed with an unwilling man, it will not fail with a gracious God.

draws from it; we must, therefore, take them in close connection with it. We are not to ask once, and then leave off asking, as if the work were done. We are to ask, and ask again; to seek with perseverance; to knock repeatedly. Our Lord does not tell us that the blessing shall come on the first application. He will bless us when He will, and how He will. The Syrophenician woman had to ask three times before she received. The first time Jesus answered her not a word, the second time He seemed almost to refuse her request; and it was only when she still persevered that He said, "O woman, great is thy faith; be it unto thee even as thou wilt." Yet she was heard graciously from the very first; and it was, doubtless, only to try her faith that the answer was withheld so long.

The lesson, therefore, which our Lord draws from the parable is this: "And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." To make the exhortation stronger, three different words are used-Ask, Seek, Knock; and to each is joined a promise. And then, lest any humble soul should fear that the exhortation and promise were not for him, our gracious Lord adds, "For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened."

It is not to the worthy that the promise is given; every one that asketh receiveth; every one who asks in the way of the Gospel, humbly and sincerely, in the name of Jesus Christ. None are shut out. Whatever they may have done, whatever they may have been, whatever may be their wants, their sins, their sorrows, temptations, infirmities,

yet the exhortation and the promise come to them"Ask, and it shall be given you; for every one that asketh receiveth." The promise is applied more particularly to the gift of the Holy Spirit, but we may apply it also to every blessing, temporal or spiritual, that would really be for our good; to the pardon of sin, to comfort in trouble, to help in difficulty, to guidance in doubt.

Whenever we pray, we may do so in the faith of our Saviour's words, " Ask, and it shall be given you;" and the constant remembrance of them will make us more frequent, more earnest, and more believing in prayer.

But these words of our Lord come at the close of the parable, and contain the exhortations which He

We, too, are heard when first we pray, and heard graciously. Even the man in the parable heard the very first knock of his friend, though he would not rise. We are heard at our first cry to God, and heard with no unwillingness to help. If it please our Father, in His infinite wisdom, and for our good, in order to try our faith and thus to strengthen it, if it please Him to keep us waiting awhile, that we may pray again and again, more humbly and earnestly, can we not bide His time? Must we have what we desire at the very first cry, or think that God will not give it at all? How often does the Psalmist speak of waiting on the Lord! "Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen strengthen thine heart wait, I say, on the Lord." Waiting in prayer, praying again and again, and patiently awaiting His good pleasure in faith and hope.

For God's promises in Christ never fail. "Every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened." Not all at one time or in one way, but some earlier, some later; some in this way, and some in that; but all surely, because God has said it. Let none be cast down or discouraged, let the faith of none fail. instant in prayer." "Ask in faith, nothing wavering." God does hear you already, and hears you graciously, in every prayer you put up, every cry, every knock at the door of mercy; and in His own good time He will show you that He has heard you.

"Be

THE HINDO0 MOTHER'S VOW.

POOR Hindoo mother, seeing one of her children in great danger, made a Vow to the goddess Kali, that if she would spare her child's life, the next son she bore should be sacrificed to her. The time came for the fulfilment of the vow, and for five days husband and wife both engaged in worship. On the fourth day, in the evening, the mother lulled her baby to sleep, and then sat gazing at him, without moving even a finger, for at least an hour. (The priest had told her that it would impair the benefit of the sacrifice if she wept or mourned.) At the end of that time, she quietly arose, and placed the child in the arms of its nurse without a word. The next day she never looked at him. About five o'clock, when he was sleeping, she came and quietly took him up. Casting part of her dress over the infant's face, she walked quickly down to the river's brink, and, without pausing an instant, flung the babe from her as far as she could into the water. He sunk, but rose again instantly, and as instantly the immense head and open jaws of an alligator appeared beside him. The next moment the headless trunk of the babe floated before her, staining the water with its blood. With a wild cry, the benighted heathen mother would have flung herself in after the babe, had she not been held back. So greatly was she excited, that she afterwards became very ill. On recovering consciousness, she told those around her never on any account to mention her child to her again. What a contrast this presents to the demands of a loving Saviour, who gave Himself to save the lost!

THE TEXT FOUND IN THE COAL-BOX.

NNIE was a general servant at a lodging-house

in one of the pretty watering-places which abound in the West of England. Her mistress was kind, and, on the whole, she had a comfortable place, but, as is usual in such cases, plenty of hard work early and late. Up and down stairs all day long, waiting on the lodgers and keeping the house in order, her steps were often weary and her limbs aching when she lay down to rest at night.

Annie was very ignorant; she had learned to read, and that was about all she had been taught. She went to a place of worship sometimes, but did not understand much of what she heard, and now these thoughts began to trouble her, and she could not get rid of them. She knew there was a heaven of joy and love, she had heard of its glories, and knew also that sin could never enter there, and she felt she was a sinner. True, she had always been honest and industrious, and thought she had done as well as she could; but yet her conscience told her she was not fit to stand in the presence of a holy God, and her sins became a heavy burden to her. She had heard that Jesus died to save sinners, and she knew she was one; but how was she to obtain this great salvation?

She had no Christian friend to help her, none to whom she could open her heart and tell its deep distress. Her mistress never spoke of such things, and so, Annie imagined, knew but little about them; but yet, having no one else to speak to, she determined one day to ask her.

It was as she had feared; her mistress could not understand her trouble, told her she had always been a good girl and done the best she could, but advised her to talk to the lodger, who, she thought, knew more about such things. Longing for some relief, the girl watched eagerly for an opportunity to unburden her heart to the lodger.