HONOUR THY FATHER.

NE cold winter day, says Mr. Ashworth, a young man was seen going from Rochdale towards Marsland workhouse carrying an old man on

his back.

The young man's strength being exhausted, he set down the old man in a sitting posture on the famous Milkstone. While both were resting, the old man began to weep bitterly.

"You may cry as hard as you like," said the young man, "but to the workhouse you shall go, if my legs can carry you, for I will not be burdened with you any longer."

"I am not weeping because thou art taking me to the workhouse, my son, but because of my own

cruelty to thy grandfather. Twenty-five years since, this very day, I was carrying him on my back to the workhouse, and rested with him on this very stone. He wept, and begged 'I would let him live with me the few days he had to live, promising to rock and nurse the little children, and to do anything that he could; but I mocked his sorrow, turned a deaf ear to his cries and tears, and took him to the workhouse. It is the thought of such cruel conduct to my poor old dead father that makes me weep."

The son was amazed, and said, "Get on my back, father; I'll take you home again; for if that be the way, my turn will come next; it seems to be weight for weight. Get on my back, and you shall have your old corner and rock the little children."

wounded five men and himself again slightly in the head, pushed off.

The ship was about a mile away. In the boat the Commodore was very faint from the pain of his wound, which his secretary, Mr. Perry, was sucking; but he soon revived, and came up the side of the ship briskly, desiring that the wounded should be attended to; the boats were hoisted up, as he intended to sail at once But, after his wound had been dressed, and he had ascertained that no provocation had been offered by any one of his party, he thought right to mark his displeasure at this act of treachery by burning the few huts where the outrage had occurred, giving strict orders that no life should be taken or risked, and that blank cartridge should be fired, to scare the natives away before the sailors landed.

The Commodore was at once placed in the sick list, and confined to his bed, except for a short time each day. The first two days he slept a great deal. He was cheerful and hopeful, but fully realising and contemplating the danger which he was in, and even the probability of a fatal issue; and those around him soon observed a settled calm and deliberation in all that he said and did, which seemed to speak of some great step or resolve taken. On the Sunday he desired the chaplain to give thanks publicly at service that he and others had not been cut off suddenly, but had had time to prepare for death, if death should come-to use his own words, "for a deliverance, in the thought of which he had been led to look more closely into the things which are hereafter."

On Monday and Tuesday he continued pretty well. On Tuesday he sat up for some time, writing a letter. In it he speaks of being quite well, but for a pain in his back-this was the first sign of the fatal disease. While he was writing this letter some one came into the cabin, and he put it down with an unfinished sentence--never to resume it again. With the exception of signing some despatches two days. later, these were the last words written.

That evening the Commodore became uneasy; he passed a very restless night, getting no sleep until he had a soothing draught. On the Wednesday morning early the symptoms of tetanus became more marked, and by the middle of the day were undoubted. He had desired, some days before, to be told as soon as any alarming symptoms should occur; and early on Wednesday afternoon he was told that tetanus had set in. He received the announcement in silence, and with perfect calmness, merely asking, after a little while, how long it was likely to last; and as one or another of his officers came in to see him he told them that he was going to die, adding immediately that he had no fear, but perfect trust in God.

The same thing continued during Thursday morning, except that by this time the suffering was very much severe, and the exhaustion and oppression in breathing greater. Early in the afternoon he

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wished for more air, and was helped to the aftercabin; but becoming very faint, he was assisted back to his bed. He, soon after said to those who were with him, "I gather from your manner that I am going to die soon; if so, I should wish to see all the officers, to bid them good-bye."

They all assembled, and he spoke to them at length, taking an affectionate farewell of each, telling them how he had loved them all, how he had seen in each something worthy to be loved; and saying a kind and appropriate word of encouragement to each one, showing how well he knew their individual characters. He told them of his happiness in the love of God, of his readiness to die: bidding each one kiss him, as a token that no hastiness on his part was unforgiven by them. He then desired to take leave of the ship's company, and insisted on doing so, though it was feared at first that it might hurt him. He said, "If I can only turn one soul to the love of God, if it were but the youngest boy in the ship, I must do it. Perhaps when they hear it from the lips of a dying man they will believe it."

He was carried out in his chair, wrapped in blankets, and laid on a bed on the quarter-deck, the ship's company being all around him. He begged the men to smile at him, and not to look sad. He told them that he was dying, and therefore he wished to say good-bye to them. He told them that he had had a very happy life, and now God was taking him away before he had any sorrow. He told them how happy he was in the sense of God's love and in the conviction that whatever happened was according to God's will; and he exhorted them most earnestly to the love of God, saying, "The love which God Himself will give you if you trust Him is very great; it will guide all your goings and doings." He begged them to try and resist when on shore the temptations to sin, which led them to break their leave and desert. "When you are tempted," he said, "think of the love of God."

"As to those poor natives," he added, "don't think about them and what they have done. It is not worth while; they couldn't know right from wrong. Perhaps some twenty or thirty years hence, when some good Christian man has settled among them and taught them, something may be learnt about it."

After again speaking of the vastness of God's love, he said, "Before I go back to die, I should like you all to say, 'God bless you,'" which they did; and he then said, "May God Almighty bless you with His exceeding great love, and give you happiness such as He has given me !"

He then shook hands with all the petty officers, having a special word for each; and then-again saying "Good-bye" to all-he was carried back to his cabin. He had spoken for twenty minutes or more; his voice, which was very weak at first, became quite strong and clear as he went on. On getting back to his bed he said, "Well, I suppose there is

nothing more to be done now, but to lie down and die quietly!"

He soon fell asleep, and his strength never returned. The spasms became much more violent, but were never as severe, as is often the case in tetanus. All through they were much subdued by his immense force of will and self-control; and with the help of sedatives he slept between, and took all the nourishment that was offered to him. But through all, his patience, his faith, his entire acceptance of the stroke as being the will of God, never failed for an instant; he never complained of the pain; he was constantly smiling, even during the spasms. His one theme was the love of God; and the only complaint that was heard was, that he had no breath left to praise God for all His mercies. He constantly asked after the others; he knew that two of the men, Rayner and Smale, had tetanus, but did not know that Rayner died on the Thursday night. Smale lived till the Saturday morning.

After the Friday morning he spoke but little, though to the last he responded when directly spoken to. About noon he woke up from a short sleep, looking a little dazed. He said, "I have quite forgotten all about everything." Then, seeing the commander by his side, he turned to him, saying, "Hastings, you will do all that is right;" and then, having given up all his earthly charge, he dropped back, and took little notice of anything more.

He died at a quarter-past five on Friday afternoon, August 20, 1875, so quietly and peacefully that the exact moment was only perceptible to him who held his pulse.*

THE JOY OF THE BRIGHT CITY.

not all my readers love what is bright and joyful? Perhaps you have not much brightness in your life. It may be a life of toil and hardship; but you do not the less love what is cheerful and happy. And if sometimes you get even a little peep into the joys of life, you feel how pleasant it would be always to be prosperous and light at heart: never to be sorrowful and gloomy. And if, when you are sad and sick at heart, some one were to say to you, Come with me, and you shall be always happy, and always have all you can want," how gladly you would go!

Now I cannot make you always happy, for no one in this world can be so always. But I can tell you the glad news of a Bright City where there is no sorrow, nor crying, and no more pain; and where you may go and be made happy for ever, more happy than you can ever dream of here. That City is for

* From Journal of Commodore Goodenough. King & Co.

the poor as much as for the rich. The Prince of that City loves the poor. He loves the young too. He came into this world of ours, and became a child, and a poor child, that He might feel all human troubles and sadness, and make a way for all to the City where He lives and reigns. He did more. He let Himself be ill-used and despised, that He might make a way for us to dwell with Him for He was nailed to a cross, and died in great pain, that He might gain the pardon of our sins, and raise us to His throne. He went down into the grave for us. He rose again from the grave, and went Himself to the Bright City to prepare a place for us, that where He is there we might be also. He is waiting there for you, if you will Him, and be happy with Him for ever.

ever.

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For this is one great joy of the Bright City, that those who find their way there are safe for eternity. No one can bring them back to be sad and sorry again. No one can take them away from it, or trouble them; no one can hurt them, or be unkind to them. They are safe for ever.

In that Bright City all is peace and love. There is no fighting nor quarrelling there; no hard words. No one is angry, and no one is jealous; no one is cruel, no one is afraid. All is peace as well as joy.

Have you ever looked at the clouds on a very bright evening, when the sun is setting? Have you seen the lovely red and gold colours in the sky? They may help you to think of the beauty and glory of the Bright City. Yet its light and glory are much greater than those of the clouds. For that City is brighter than anything we see on this earth.

Do not you long to see this happy, glorious, joyful place? Do not you long to go to it? Do not you feel that it would be a greater joy than any you have ever had, if you could be in that City, where hunger, and thirst, and weariness, and pain, and sadness, never

come?

Then will you not try to find the way there? Will. you not listen to me a little while, that I tell may you about the road to it? Will you not ask God to give you grace to enable you to walk in the road? Will you not try to make the work of your every-day life easier, by looking on to the Bright City of peace and joy?

In the name of the Prince of that Bright City, let me entreat you to try and find the way to it. As you read these lines which tell you something about the road, ask Him to give you wisdom to find it, and strength to walk in it. For unless we walk in the way which He has opened for us we shall never get there. His way is the only way, and all others will only end in sorrow-a sorrow as never-ending as is the joy of those who find the entrance into the Bright City.

Jesus, on Thee our hope depends,
To lead us on to Thine abode :
Assured our home will make amends
For all our toil while on the road.

THE BUNCH OF GRAPES.

HERE was once in a far-off land a beautiful greenhouse in a courtyard leading from the public streets of the town. It belonged to the king, so that no money was spared to make the flowers blossom and the fruit grow ripe within.

It was the dead of winter now, and not a flower was to be seen in all the gardens without, neither was there any fruit upon the trees. But in the greenhouse one splendid bunch of grapes hung from the glass ceiling, basking in the bright winter sun, in full view of the people passing through the courtyard.

A poor woman stopped and looked at it. She looked till her mouth watered,

"My good woman," said the royal lady, when she had heard all, "your mistake has been this: you thought my father was a merchant, and not a king; you thought his business was to sell, but instead of that it is to give."

Then she plucked the bunch from the vine, and dropped it into the woman's apron. So she obtained as a free gift what the labour of many days and nights had proved unable to procure her.

Did you ever hear of God's free grace? You will find it in many pages of the Bible, and I think this story will help you to understand it. "By 'grace' ye are saved," and it means that we are saved by God's free loving favour towards us, without any merit

or any helping on our part.

With all our praying and all our trying, and all the good deeds we may fancy we have done, we can no more win our own salvation than that poor woman could buy the king's bunch of grapes.

We need not think we have anything to pay when we come to Jesus. We must take what He offers as a gift, or not at all. We do not wonder at the gardener being angry with the woman who thought that the king, his master, was in the habit of selling grapes like a common fruiterer. But what she did is nothing to what we do. The Lord Jesus has bought our souls' salvation for us at a tremendous cost, even the cost of His own blood. Then we come and offer a few poor prayers, and a few kind actions perhaps, and we think they will help out the payment. Just as if Jesus had not done it all! Just as if He had not told us over and over again in the Bible that He gives good gifts, and does not

But that was no better; the man scolded her angrily for presuming to come again, and taking her by the arm he thrust her out of the house.

But it so happened that the king's daughter was at that moment walking at the other end of the greenhouse. She heard the commotion, and she asked what it meant. When the gardener told her what it was, she directed him to call the woman back to her. The poor woman trembled, but the princess smiled on her so kindly when she spoke to her that she felt encouraged to tell her all the story of her sick child and the bunch of grapes.

sell them.

No! there is nothing to pay for the salvation that Jesus brings: "He that hath no money, come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price;" that is the way in which the gift is put before us. "Whosoever will, let him come;" that is the invitation. It is the gift of God; we have only to put out our hands and take it, and then to thank Him for it, not only with our lips but in our lives.