"Gradually, however, through God's mercy, my sufferings decreased, and strength came back to me; at the end of six months I recovered, but was pronounced lame for life.

"And now I must speak of my nurse, who was as a mother to me, nursing me with a mother's tenderness. As I became stronger she sometimes sat beside my bed reading from the Bible-this very book, sir. She spoke to me often of God, of His great love to us, even to sinners such as I; of the exceeding tenderness of the Lord Jesus Christ, how He longed to save us and to deliver us from our misery and sin.

"I had never heard of this love before; any idea I had formed of God, if I thought of Him at all, was one of terror. He seemed so far above me, He was so great, and I so poor and insignificant, I almost hoped He would forget me and pass me by.

"As she read to me of His pity to the poor sinful people when He was upon earth; of His fatherly care over us all, every one, poor and rich alike, even to number the very hairs of our head, oh, sir, I wept like a child.

"As she advised me to do, I told Him all-all about my neglected childhood, my sinful youth; I begged Him to pity me, even me; and He did, sir, filling my heart with joy and peace. Joy, when I thought that He had died for me, and would save me, or as she said, had saved me; and peace, as she continued to tell me how my great sins were blotted out, and how His own holiness and goodness were put upon me. Covered with His righteousness! Oh, sir, this is a great thought to me even now, so wonderful it seems to such as I. But it is true, sir, for the Bible says so. "I had learned to read a little when a boy, but had nearly forgotten all about it. Nurse lent me this book, and with her help I managed to spell out the words until I could read for myself.

"At last I was able to leave the infirmary, I humbly hoped a changed man. This Bible, that had been so blessed to me, nurse gave me to carry away. Upon my

return here, being unable to resume my old employment, I was made a signalman, and so have remained ever since.

"From time to time, whilst nurse lived, I went to see her, always taking with me her Bible. A few years ago she died, and I saw her laid in the ground. Oh, sir, what joy when we meet in heaven to see the Saviour she so taught me to love; unworthy as I am, I do feel now that he to whom much has been forgiven the same loveth much."

He ended. Thanking him, I pursued my way, pondering much upon the wondrous love which through such strange and painful means had sought out this poor outcast, “had set him right, and turned his darkness into light." Truly may we add the Saviour's own words; "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter.”

No doubt he has long since met his good friend the hospital nurse, she, who faithful to the charge committed to her, was the blessed means of awakening this soul hitherto dead in trespasses and sins.

Let us ever remember that no situation is too humble to work for God. Great is the responsibility of those appointed to minister to the sick in our many hospitals and infirmaries; but oh, how glorious will be their reward in that day when they who turn many to righteousness shall shine as the stars for ever and ever."

66

"No Night There."

J. A. G.

JILL it then be ever day bright and cloudless? Will there be no shadow, nothing to obscure the welcome, the beautiful light of love. "No candle needed," for "God is light," and in Him is no darkness at all. And He will reign, and where He reigns will be heaven, and in His presence His redeemed ones will forget for ever earth's darkness, and only know henceforward heaven's light. Oh, joy, joy, joy, "there shall be no night there." No night, and here there is so much, so many

days are nights, nights of sorrow, of suffering, of distress, of perplexity, of temptation, of trial, of sin. Nights of wrestling and fighting, and agonising, and praying and wearying, and there no night," not even one hour of night, for there even the shadows flee away. Poor wanderers on earth's darkest ways, whose days are clouded, and whose nights are countless, listen, "there shall be no night there," not one— not one, for Jesus lives and reigns, and in His presence is perpetual day. Oh! think of it and shout for joy; even in this your night of earth "cling to the mighty One," ask Him to put beneath you His everlasting arms, to hold you, to bear you on His wings. Oh, "wait on Him if you would see the blessings of eternity, and have them for your own. Light! blessed light! thrice blessed, when the Lord of light its fulness does impart; these eyes are dim, they cannot see; they long and strain and try to pierce the oft-recurring gloom; but there! but there! 'twill all be bright. Earth's shadows will for ever flee away. Ah! the thought is grand and sweet, it fills the aching void, it calms the troubled breast, and with its gentle force it presses back the surging thought we cannot always stay, and it whispers in its own sweet tones, so pure that we picture the white robes so silvery, that we discern the glassy sea, so full and satisfying, that we find God and heaven reflected in them: Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world," and "there shall be no night there."

66

A

An Important Question.

T half-past six o'clock on a gloomy winter morning, the light and warmth of a well-blazing fire in the waiting-room of the Norham railway station.

was a great attraction to half-benumbed travellers who had left their homes at such an early hour in readiness for the first train; and one old woman especially had

drawn her chair closely in front of the fender, and carefully putting her homely-looking bundle on the ground at her side, was leaning forward, spreading out her thin, skinny hands to catch, if possible, a little of the genial heat.

There are some old people whose every look and gesture seems to tell of life having been to them a seed-time of noble Christian purposes and deeds, which have blossomed and borne fruit in an evening of content and satisfaction, not with themselves, but with Him of whom they can say with quiet gladness, "He led me forth by a right way, that I might go to a city of habitation.” There are others, in whose faces the lines of discontent and disappointment have hardened into an expression of habitual gloom and sourness very sad to see, because it makes one fear that they have spent the precious day of life in hewing out to themselves "broken cisterns that can hold no water." Of this last class was the old woman in the railway station, and as she stooped over the fire the bright flame played, as if in mockery, on miserable features that seemed never to have had the illumination of sunshine from within. She took no part in the casual talk that was going on around her, but cowered down, apparently absorbed in her own gloomy thoughts.

Her forlorn appearance attracted the attention of a young woman who was standing a little apart from the crowd near the fire. Mary Lanyon had her own burden of grief that morning, for she had been summoned to the journey she was now taking by tidings of her mother's alarming illness, and had, during her absence, to give up the school which was her sole means of support; and so anxiety about the future might well have added its weight to the heaviness of her present sorrow. But no one could look at her peaceful, though tear-stained face, without instinctively feeling that the secret of the Lord was with her. And so it was. She had, like her noble namesake, "chosen that good part" which no adverse circumstances can ever wrench away from the hand of faith-" the good part" of trust in a Saviour's

dying love, an assurance of His constant care and fellowship, and the privilege of feeling, even when dark days come, and the onward path is well-nigh blocked up, that "all the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth to such as keep His covenant." And in her grateful love to this blessed Friend, especially for His support in this time of trial, Mary had prayed that in this journey she might have some opportunity of work for Him; and from the time that she first saw the unhappy face of the old woman, she longed to speak to her of the great Comforter.

But she could not do so before the other passengers, and neither she nor they seemed inclined to leave the fire until the train was in sight. So Mary had time for earnest prayer for words to speak, and for power to accompany the words.

A few minutes later, and the clanging bell brought all the other passengers hurriedly out of the waiting-room, and the old woman's tottering steps now carrying her after them, when a kind hand was stretched out to help her with her bundle, and a clear voice, close at her ear, asked the question, gently and solemnly, "My friend, have you felt the Spirit's power?" The old woman started and glanced round, and as she met the loving look of Mary's face her own heart grew warmer, and instinctively she put out her hand and grasped that of the young girl, whilst her eyes smarted with the unwonted moisture of tears.

"I know what you are talking about; they are good words you are saying, young woman," she muttered, "and they bring back my young days to me. If I'd remembered what I learned then, it would have been better for me. Pray for a miserable old creature, will ye now, and God bless you!" There was just time for Mary to help her into a compartment, where there was only one seat left, and then let the guard hurry her away to another part of the train, where there was more room. She has never seen the old woman again, nor heard whether the seed sown that cold November morning fell into good ground; but she has