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But the lodger knew little more than the mistress; she could only tell her that God was very merciful, and would not expect much from a poor ignorant girl. There was no comfort in this, no easing of the burden of a guilty conscience, no way to get rid of sin. And so the days went on, and the burden grew heavier, and the cry went up deep from her heart, "What must I do to be saved?" And God heard that cry, and sent her an answer of peace.

The lodger's bell had rung one day for more coals to be put on the fire, and Annie, while throwing them on, caught sight of a piece of paper-it was part of the leaf of a Bible. She took it out of the coal-box, and as she did so these words caught her eye, "Be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven thee."

A gleam of gladness broke into her heart. Forgiveness! why, that was just what she was longing for. It must have been Jesus who spoke these words, she felt sure; but who did He say them to?

She turned over leaf after leaf of a Bible, in her eager longing to find the words. After a while she came to them, and again and again she read through the narrative, which she found in the 9th chapter of Matthew's Gospel, the text being in the second verse.

Yes, there it was, there could be no mistake about it; they were the words of Jesus, and he to whom they were spoken was a poor, sick man, who seemed to have done nothing himself. His friends had brought him to Jesus, and Jesus, seeing he needed forgiveness, had offered it to him at once. Then surely He would do the same for her, for was He not the same Jesus now? God's Spirit was leading her to Jesus.

On her knees she begged for pardon, her one plea being her deep need. And the same voice which had spoken pardon eighteen hundred years before, seemed to speak to her. It was as if she had heard Jesus say, "Be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven." She believed and trusted Him at once; she had asked and obtained, and she rose from her knees with the burden all gone; she had taken it to Jesus, and left it there, and her heart was full of joy.

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TREASURES IN HEAVEN.

R. CECIL had a hearer who, when a young man, had solicited his advice, but of whom afterwards he saw but little. So one day he went to his house, and after his usual salutations addressed him thus: "I understand you are very dangerously situated!" Here he paused, and his friend replied, "I am not aware of it, sir." "I thought it was probable you were not, and therefore I have called on you. I hear you are getting rich: take care, for it it is the road by which the devil leads thousands to destruction!" This was spoken with so much solemnity and earnestness that it made a deep and lasting impression.

There is nothing that so tests the character as pros perity; and we know, that though it may improve it,

it is far oftener found to mar it, and that sometimes in a very fearful way. A clergyman was lately relating a fact of this kind-the most awful, he said, that he had ever known. It was the case of a lady who had long been a liberal subscriber to the charities belonging to his church, and this with but a limited income; but after a time she came into a larger property, and it was naturally expected, from her previous character, that she would at once double or treble her subscriptions. Instead of this, she quietly and coolly withdrew them all, saying, in explanation, that God had given her wealth, but that the will to give was gone!

But it need not be so, for "all things are ours," if we are Christ's; "things present" as well as "things to come." If, then, Christians were as earnest in striving after what they profess to aim at, and in the bottom of their hearts feel to be the only thing worth living for, they would regard each addition to their worldly riches as an additional talent to be used and laid out for Christ. This would be turning an enemy into a friend; for we know that what is laid out for Him is sure to be paid back, with large interest, always in spiritual, and sometimes in temporal things.

The following story of "Three Money-Boxes" is a striking instance of this truth :

"Much had been said one evening at the meeting of a missionary society on the blessing which always seemed to rest on those who gave largely towards the support of Christian missions. The next morning, at breakfast, a lady gave the following account to one of the party who were her visitors on that

occasion.

"I had three brothers,' she said, 'who had been brought up with much care by my excellent father and mother. They had endeavoured to impress upon all their children the duty and the high privilege of laying by and giving, even of their little store, to the spreading of the kingdom of our blessed Redeemer. It happened that each of these brothers possessed a box, in which he was accustomed to drop any small sum of money that might be given to him. In the confusion of moving to another house, these boxes were for a time mislaid, and were looked for in vain. Some time afterwards the three boxes were unexpectedly found. The boys were delighted at the discovery of their lost treasures, and determined at once to open their boxes. It was rather a curious circumstance that the three boxes each contained almost the same sum of money— about ten pounds.

My eldest brother had long wished to possess a watch, and, without hesitation, he instantly appropriated the whole of the contents of his box to the purchase of one.

He

My second brother was of a divided mind. accordingly separated his money into two portionsone he spent for his own gratification, the other he gave to some religious society.

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"And now," added the lady, "I must tell you something of the after life of each of my brothers. The dispositions which were then shown in so marked a way proved indicative of the future course of each of these young men. The eldest has been engaged in many undertakings, which seemed to promise wealth, and he has expended large sums of money; but he has failed in everything, and at the close of a long life he is a poor man, and has been for some considerable time dependent on the bounty of his youngest brother.

My second brother is not poor, but he has never been rich, nor satisfied with his very moderate circumstances.

I am now in mourning for my youngest brother. He died lately, leaving one hundred thousand pounds, after having freely given away at least as much to missions among the heathen, and to other works of love. God prospered him in everything which he undertook; and he ceased not, throughout the whole course of his life, to give freely of all that God gave to his hand. Freely he had received, and freely and cheerfully indeed did he give."

GOD BETTER THAN OUR FEARS.

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ORE than twenty years ago I used to hear from the lips of a sister in Christ the petition, "Will God be better to us than our fears?" and I should like to put on record some proofs of the Divine faithfulness.

Mrs. Humphrey was a conscientious, praying Christian, earnest in serving the Lord, and engaging others in the same blessed work. When I first knew her she was in early married life, with a kind husband and two bright children. But Mr. Humphrey was not a Christian, and she greatly "feared" he never would be. Especially did she fear when he embarked in a new business enterprise, which demanded all his time and heavily taxed his energies. "He won't have a moment's leisure to think of his soul now," said the wife, sorrowfully.

But God was better than her fears, though in a way which she had not looked for. She saw her husband's health was failing, but she found him earnestly improving each passing hour in the hitherto neglected work of making his peace with God and giving his heart to Him; and at length she had good evidence that he did indeed repent and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, to the saving of his soul.

Mrs. Humphrey was so truly rejoiced to see him turning to the Lord, that she submitted humbly and sweetly to the trying stroke which made her a widow and her children fatherless. But when her husband's estate was settled, and she saw the slender pittance left for her support, her fears returned. "My poor boy and girl," she said, "we shall all come on the town, I am afraid, and be separated from each other." Christian friends saw her anxiety, and with prompt

kindness hastened to her relief. She was assisted to engage in a light and suitable business, which gave herself and children a decent support. So her little family was not broken up, and she could still have the opportunity to train up her little ones in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Thus again her prayer was answered, and God was better to her than her fears. At length her son was old enough to begin some career of labour. Mrs. Humphrey wished him to learn some trade, especially one that was proposed to him, which would keep him still under her roof and care. But the boy had a passion for a sea-going life; and though, to please his mother, ho tried her plan for him, he was neither contented nor successful; so she had to give him up to be a sailor, though she feared the temptations of such a life would undo all her efforts for his good, and cause him to lose his soul.

Oh how earnestly the discouraged mother prayed again that the Lord would be "better than her fears." And how soon came the gracious answer from Him who has promised to be the God of the widow and fatherless. The captain with whom Newton Humphrey sailed was converted at a Bethel-meeting in a foreign harbour; prayer was established on shipboard, Bibles and tracts circulated and read, and the souls of the crew faithfully cared for. One of the first to be reached by these efforts was the widow's son; and though he did not return for three years, she had the joy of hearing that he was trying to serve his mother's God.

When he came home once more, his kind and dutiful conduct cheered her greatly. He saw that her health was failing, and she was becoming lame, and persuaded her to give up her little shop, which required too much standing, and draw upon his wages for her support. "Sister Fanny has her trade as tailoress now," he said, "she can procure you some sewing, so that you can earn a little while sitting still; and when I have made one more voyage, I shall be promoted, and then you shall not want any comfort which money can bring." And the sailor-boy said good-bye again.

For nearly three years Mrs. Humphrey and Fanny followed Newton's plan; and then came a sad blow. The kind son and brother died, thousands of miles from home, and his loved remains were buried from the ship's side in mid-ocean, to be seen no more till the sea should give up its dead. "Tell my mother and sister not to mourn; father and I will meet them, I hope, in a safe harbour at last," was the dying message. Mrs. Humphrey's grief for the loss of her beloved and dutiful son was greatly aggravated by the prospect of want which now seriously threatened her. Without Newton's wages she could not pay her rent, her own needle and Fanny's being only adequate to the purchase of their daily supplies. Again her fears rolled over her, and again she rolled her burden on the Lord. Not in vain did her cry of anguish reach the ear of heaven's King.

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A sca-captain who had known her boy, and had heard him speak of his mother's circumstances, wishing to take his wife on a foreign voyage, offered the widow a home in his pleasant cottage during their two years' absence, and gave her rent, fuel, and food for the care of his birds and flowers. Her daughter could board with her; thus they were again provided for; and till the return of Captain Masters they lived more comfortably than they had done for many years.

But at length their temporary home must be given back to its owners, and mother and daughter found in a cheap boarding-house an uncomfortable abode. "I see not what will become of us now," said the almost despairing widow. "My health is failing every day; I shall soon be unable to earn anything, I fear. Fanny cannot support herself and me, and the Lord only knows how we can live."

with

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know. Mrs. Humphrey's fears regard to her health were soon realised, more fully even than she had anticipated. A partial paralysis affected her arms and feet, so as to render her nearly helpless. Her mind too somewhat affected; not to the extent of destroying her reason, but of making her like faculties more those of a child than a woman. For a few days Fanny was obliged to devote all her time to her mother. But as soon as Mrs. Humphrey's partial recovery permitted, she returned to the shop for the sewing which she was customed to do, making the request that, in consequence of her mother's very feeble health, she might be permitted to do her work at her lodgings.

The foreman, who had always shown her great kindness, cheerfully granted her request; and the increased knowledge of her character and conduct which this change brought to his notice deepened the favourable impression which he had heretofore cherished. It was not long before he offered her a home as his wife, and promised to be a loving son to her invalid mother.

Fanny knew his worth, and could return the sincere affection proffered her; so a modest cottage was rented and furnished; and there, a few days since, I found "at home." The mother is the mother and daughter cheerful and happy. She has forgotten all her "fears," and only speaks of the goodness of the Lord in providing such comfort for her declining days.

"Well," said I, as I saw her smiling face, "you used to pray that God would be better than your fears,' and He often answered your prayer; now it seems as if He had delivered you even from the fears themselves."

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THE COLONEL'S BARGAIN.

HE courage of Colonel Beckwith on the memorable day of Waterloo is sufficiently shown by the fact that four horses were killed under him during the engagement. He himself remained unhurt, until one of the last shots fired by the retreating enemy broke his left leg. After three months of painful waiting amputation was found necessary. But for this trial, which put an end to his military career, he would never either have sought or found the Vaudois Valleys. Who can tell the connec

The owner of the ass came punctually to the rendezvous; the money was counted out to him; and when, with a heavy heart, he was preparing to go, and leave his ass behind

"Oh," said Beckwith, "you may take the ass with you for the present, and make use of it until I claim it; only you must understand that the ass is mine, and that I can allow no one to seize it under any pretext whatever."

The surprise and joy of the good old man, when he heard these words, can be better imagined than

described. As for the animal itself, this incident made it quite famous in the neighbourhood; and henceforward, instead of being called Bontalon's ass (the owner's name), it went by the name of the Colonel's ass. But Colonel Beckwith was more and better than a

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because he was such a sincere and thorough Christian that he accomplished what he did, and was favoured even in his life-time with great success.

tion between that stray cannon-ball and the religious simple philanthropist. He was a Christian; and it is and social regeneration of Italy? Be this as it may, Beckwith's sufferings, which were not small, prepared for him spiritual blessings, in view of which we cannot doubt the blow had been dealt. He listened to the voice of God, impressing on his heart and soul things which, till now, had only obtained his passing attention. Beckwith informs us that he had never been either a sceptic or an infidel; but his faith had long been of that too common kind, a faith without works, which is dead. The Vaudois thought at one time that it was in order to relieve their temporal wants that Colonel Beckwith had come to live among them, so numerous and abundant were the alms which he distributed on all sides. The time very soon came when he could no longer take his daily walks without being constantly stopped by suppliants for his bounty. At other times

he himself constrained the sufferer to reveal his distress and accept relief. One day, on the way from Sainte-Marguerite to Villar, he met a man, well known in the district, who earned a seanty livelihood by carrying small coal and wood from the hill, by means of an ass. The poor man, who was that day without the animal, was weeping like some one under the weight of a great misfortune.

"What is the matter, my friend?" said Beckwith, approaching him.

"Ah! sir," replied the good man, in a mixture of French and Piedmontese (he was a Catholic), "they are going to take away my ass, and without it my family and I must die of hunger."

And here he related to the Colonel, with many details, how one of his creditors, whom he had been unable to satisfy, had seized his ass, intending to put it in his own stable. Beckwith was touched by the story, and inquired as to the amount of the debt. When told, he said:

"Well, my friend, would you object to sell me your ass, and pay your creditor with the money I give you for it?" The man was perfectly pleased with this arrangement.

"In that case," said Beckwith, "bring the animal to me to-morrow at Sainte-Marguerite, and you shall receive your money."

This is shown by the following extract from a letter written by him: "Let us live in all openness and liberty of heart, and let us constantly direct our attention to that which is noble and generous. Let us be nobly religious, without pride; let us think nobly and act nobly towards every one, in all humility. Let us nobly sacrifice our interests, our inclinations, and, above all, our caprices, for the good of others; let us nobly forget ourselves, and direct our efforts to the good of those with whom Providence has placed us in contact. We need not soar very high to effect this. Daily life offers us a wide field for this purpose."

A FAITHFUL SOLDIER.

NDREW BURN was the child of Christian parents, and reason no sooner dawned than they began to use every means to give that reason a right bias. The history of his youth and early manhood reads more like a romance than a true tale, so full is it of singular combinations of circumstances and hairbreadth escapes by sea and land. But amid his wanderings, and all the miseries in which they involved him, he seldom thought of the God to whose providence he owed so much.

Brought low by a fever on one occasion when at sea, he expected every hour to be thrown overboard with others who had died around him, but he "had not the least painful conviction of his accumulated guilt." "I was dying," he says, "and that in every respect like a brute that perisheth, though endued with all the faculties of a rational being, and these in full exercise, unimpaired by bodily pain."

After a time we find him stationed at Chatham, as an officer in the Marines. The review of these

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