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THE MOTHER'S FORGIVENESS,

AND

OTHER SKETCHES.

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NE of Mr. Moody's elder
brothers, who ought to have
been the chief support of the
family, grew up wild and
wayward, and at length sud-
denly disappeared.

For years no tidings of the
lost boy reached the widowed
mother. It seemed sometimes as if
her heart would break for him. "Oh!

if I could only know he was dead, it would be better than this! Maybe he is sick and in want!-maybe he has fallen in with wicked men, who will make him like themselves!"

Her family would sit in a semicircle about the fire on a stormy winter's night, and listen to stories of their dead father: what he did, what he said, how he looked, how he was kind to a friend and lost a great deal of money by him, and so their little home was mortgaged, and they were poor. But if by chance any one spoke the name of the absent brother, a great silence fell upon them; the tears would come into the eyes of the mother, and then they would steal away to bed, whispering their "good nights," and walking

softly as they went; for that name was like a swordthrust to the mother's heart. Then they would lie awake listening to the roar of the wind among the mountains, thinking maybe he was out in the cold. somewhere; or, worse than that, perhaps he had gone to sea, and while they were snug in bed was keeping watch on a wave-beaten deck, or climbing a reeling mast in just such darkness and storm.

Now and then, between the gusts, a sound would be heard like the wail of the summer wind when it used to make harpstrings of the leaves and branches of the great maple trees in the yard: low and gentle now, and again rising into louder and stronger tones. Then they held their breath and listened. Mother was sitting up to pray for her lost boy.

Next morning perhaps she would send them down

to the post-office in the village, a mile and a half away,

to ask for a letter-a letter from him, though the HOW JOE SPENT SUNDAY AFTERNOON. mother never said so. But no letter ever came.

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When Mr. Moody's mother was growing old, and her soft dark hair was turning white, one summer afternoon a tall, swarthy man, with heavy black beard, was seen coming in at the gate. He came up under the porch, and, the door being open, he stopped and looked in, with an eager, anxious face, as if he were afraid he might not find the one he was seeking; thinking, perchance, that instead of climbing the hill to the old farm-house under the maples, he ought to have turned in at the little gate he had passed below.

The widow came to the door to bid the stranger in. The eyes that had watched so long for his coming did not know him now. He was only a boy when he ran away; years of hardship and exposure to sun and storm had made him strange even to his mother.

"Will you come in?" said she, in her courteous and kindly way.

But the stranger did not move or speak. He stood there, humbly and penitently, in the presence of her whose love he had slighted, and whose heart he had broken; and, as a sense of his ingratitude began to overwhelm him, the big tears began to find their way over his weather-beaten face.

But he

By those tears the mother recognised her son. He had come at last! There was so much of the old home in him that he could not always stay away. would not cross its threshold till he had confessed his sin against it, and heard from the same lips which had prayed for him so often and so long, the sweet assurance that he was forgiven.

"No! no!" said he; "I cannot come in till my mother forgives me."

Weeping upon his neck, forgetting all the sorrow he had caused her in the joy of seeing him once more, she forgave him because he asked it, and because she loved him.

"And that is just the way," said Mr. Moody,-who sometimes tells the story to his great congregations,"that is just the way God forgives all the prodigal sons who come back to Him. Do you think mother kept her long-lost boy out there in the porch till he had gone through with a string of apologies, and done a list of penances, and said ever-so-many prayers? Not at all! She took him to her heart at once. She made him come right in. She forgave him all, and rejoiced over his coming more than over all the other children. He had been lost, and now he was found!"

UNDAY afternoon on board ship! Not a very favourable place for enjoying a quiet half-hour, some people would think, but Joe Mason had determined to spend his leisure time profitably, and therefore we see him dressed in his clean white suit, and seated upon an old gun, practising his favourite tunes.

his mother how discouraged it made him feel to see his It is now many months since the day when he told elder brothers, ready and willing to work steadily, and yet unable to obtain permanent employment. For himself, he said, he should like to be a sailor, for he was sure that he should do far better on sea than on land. The good mother gave her consent, and after many injunctions and warnings, and followed by many a prayer, Joe began his life on board the training ship.

It was not quite so pleasant as he had expected, but when the strangeness had worn off he grew to like it. It was soon discovered that he was fond of music and had a quick ear, and he was taken into the band, and persevered so diligently that he learnt to play better much of his spare time was spent in practising, and he than many of his ship-mates.

But this afternoon as he sits on the deck, while the ship lies anchored in the broad harbour, the sea lapping her sides, and the sea-gulls flying overhead, he is trying to play some of the hymn tunes which he used to sing in the Sunday-school: A sound of church. bells is wafted from the shore, bringing to his mind many happy Sundays long gone by. But there is something wrong this bright afternoon, and Joe cannot play the tunes correctly because his thoughts are

wandering.

Down below lies a young sailor-boy, whose pallid face and quick breathing tell us that he is seriously ill. But he is alone, no tender mother or loving sister watches beside him. The sailor whose business it is to attend upon him is sent off on other duty for a while, and no one comes near him. No one? Yes, Joe has PRECEPT.-Seek ye the Lord while He may be found, given up his practice for once, and put away his call ye upon Him while He is near.

Isaiah lv. 6.

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favourite music, for he could not feel happy up there in the sunshine while he remembered the sufferer down below. He spends the precious hours of the afternoon with the sick youth, who has never been a very kind friend to him, and who is neither a patient nor grateful invalid.

But Joe remains with him talking and reading,

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by Davidson Knowles.

writes a letter for him, and does what he can to chase away the sad gloomy thoughts that are filling his mind. At length the time came for Joe to go on duty, and he goes away with joyfulness in his heart and a consciousness that this has not been a misspent afternoon, but that he has been following the footsteps. and obeying the commands of the Master who "pleased not Himself."

THE BREAD OF LIFE.

HEN Jesus Christ lived here on earth, He preached many sermons, but not one more precious than the one on bread. He had fed

five thousand people on five loaves and two fishes a wonderful miracle; and the next day the people crowded around Him, perhaps to be fed again, but Jesus said to them, "Labour not for the meat (or food) which perisheth, but for that which endureth unto everlasting life."

This does not mean that we are not to work for our daily bread, but that while we are doing this, we are to strive still harder for the food which sustains the soul. "Seek first (or chiefly) the kingdom of God and His righteousness," Jesus said in another place, "and all other things shall be added unto you."

Then the Jews asked how they were to work for this enduring food; and Jesus said, "This is the work of God, that ye believe on Him whom He hath sent." It is faith in Jesus, simple faith, that pleases God, and brings nourishment to the soul.

Jesus went on to say, "I am the Bread of life, and he that eateth Me, even he shall live by Me." That is, we are to accept and trust Him as our Saviour. You and I are sinners, and must die unless some way of deliverance is found. God saw our helpless state, and sent His Son to die for us-instead of us-and now we can go to our Father and say, "We have sinned, and done wickedly, and cannot answer for one of a thousand of our sins; but Jesus has died for us. Look Thou on Thy dear Son, Jesus, crucified on Calvary, and, for His sake, forgive our sins." This is faith; this is what is meant by "eating His flesh and drinking His blood;" and Jesus says if we do this we shall have eternal life.

But as we cannot keep our bodies alive by just once eating, or by eating only once a year, or once a month, but have to eat two or three times every day, so we must keep trusting Jesus every day and every hour.

The proof that we have eaten of the Living Bread is that we have spiritual life: and the proof that we have spiritual life is that we seek spiritual food. Let no man think he can keep his soul alive by feeding on the experiences of days gone by. The manna must be gathered fresh every morning. The Bible must be read, and the teaching and guidance of the Holy Spirit daily sought by earnest and believing prayer.

OVER THE ROUGH PLACES.

BABE, only a few months old, was left, by the death of its mother, to the care of a doctor and his wife in Richmond, Virginia. It was a grandchild. The doctor's

wife was in feeble health, and a great deal of the care of the child necessarily devolved on the doctor, especially at night, when the nurse was not at hand. The doctor at first felt it painful and irksome to watch over the helpless child. His rest at night was often broken in attending to the wants of the child.

Very soon, however, the little occupant of the cradle began to get hold of the affections of the grandfather. In the absence of its nurse he promptly paid it caressing attentions. As time wore on he became more and more attached to the little fellow. His prattle was music to the ears of the grandfather. The first words of the child had a charm; the first essay to walk delighted him, and by the time the little boy could follow him to his study, and begin to enjoy picturebooks, he had become the object of the strongest and tenderest affection.

And now for the little incident for which this narrative is given. It was a summer morning. The little boy's feet were weak and tender. He clasped his grandfather's hand and started with him to the market. Over the smooth pavement, on the sidewalks, he tripped along gleefully and glibly; but on coming to a crossalley that was paved with cobble-stones, the little fellow began to flinch and mince his way, and gave evident signs of pain. Whereupon the doctor took him up in his arms and carried him over to the smooth paving-stones on the other side.

As he was put down again he looked up with an inimitable smile, and said, "Grandpa, won't you carry me over all the rough places?"

The doctor put his hands on him and said, "God bless your precious white soul, my child, I will." And instantly the tears of grateful joy blinded the eyes of that grandfather for the lesson suggested to his own mind. "Will not my Father in heaven carry me over the rough places?" he said, half audibly.

"If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask Him?" Yes, when our feet are tender, and we are ready to faint and give up by the way, will not God carry us over the rough places? That lesson paid the doctor for all his care of the little boy, and, as repeated by him, it has encouraged many a halting and fainting pilgrim on his way to heaven.

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