plunged into the nearest public-house, where the oaths of the wild revellers would drown at least for a little the pitiable sobs and cries of her little one. Such scenes made one sick at heart, and we turned gladly out of that miserable street. Still, vice in one form or another met us at every turn. From many a group rose ribald laughter, while horrible oaths and obscene language filled the ear. Here was to be met the foolish woman, gaudy and clamorous, who accosted passengers who went right on their ways, saying, 'Whoso is simple let him turn in hither:' and as for him that wanteth understanding, she saith to him, 'Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.' But those who were allured within her walls of dissipation and debauchery, knew not that though her lips drop as an honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil; yet her feet go down to death, and her steps take hold on hell, that none that go unto her return again, neither do they take hold on the paths of life. With all her professions of love there is treachery in her bosom, and blood on her hands, for she hath cast down many wounded, many strong men have been slain by her. Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.* As we walked towards the Hotel, the preacher told me of cases which had come under his own observation of persons who had jeopardised and lost their all in this life, and in too many cases, it was to be feared also, in the life to come, through giving themselves over to one or other of the two grim vices which ruled over this populous city of Carnal Desire. He told me of families, every member of which-father, mother, sons, and daughters -he had followed to the tomb, to which they had hurried themselves before the time, through mad indulgence in strong drink; of a brother whom he had found lying dead drunk on the bed on which the coffin of his yet unburied sister was laid; of a gravedigger falling down into the open grave into which a coffin had just been lowered; and many other sights, which made my blood run cold as I listened to his gruesome narrative. Even that very day a lady of position and wealth had driven up along with a friend to the door, and requested him to come and converse with her. She told him that she had become a slave of strong drink, and desired to know whether he could assist her to break its shackles. She seemed anxious and earnest ; so earnest, that though rain was pouring in torrents at the time, and the carriage was an open one, she continued to converse with him for half-an-hour, refusing to come under shelter, or to postpone the conversation; but yet so abandoned to the use of intoxicants, that at last she said to him, 'Mr —, were to offer me the salvation of my soul in one hand, and a glass of spirits in the other, I would choose the glass of spirits.' +

* Prov. ii. 19; v. 3, 5; ix. 16-18.

if you

+ These incidents are substantially authentic.

In the evening, as we conversed together, my companion gave me many instances of persons who had been dwellers in this city or its dependent province, but who had forsaken it, and become distinguished in the roll of Immanuel's servants.

He told me of one who afterwards became a renowned ambassador of Immanuel, who in ancient times had been a ringleader in evil in this city. He was not born here, but was brought up by his mother in Immanuel's Land, who so imbued him with a reverence for that Prince, that when he had learned to read, he used to dislike any book in which His name did not occur. However, when he grew older, he emigrated to this unhappy land, and liked its Prince, its people, and its laws, if such they could be called. A friend of his was seized with fever, and when very ill called upon Immanuel. This dissipated youth laughed at his alarm, and tried by mocking to draw him back to Belial's service. His friend told him he must never again speak to him on this subject, as he was determined to follow Christ. A relapse of the fever carried him off, leaving his friend inconsolable for his loss, though not, alas! attracted to his Saviour. He continued to pursue vicious courses, while yet seeking for wisdom, and at last became convinced that if he was to find true wisdom, he must find some influence that could free him from the power as well as from the penalty of his sin. He found this influence at last in Divine Grace, and yielded himself heartily to its sway, and thereafter became one of Immanuel's most distinguished servants and statesmen, and used all his talents, which were of very high order, during the latter portion of his life, in commending to others the grace of Immanuel, which he had found so efficacious in his own heart.

Q. Was Immanuel quite willing to receive one who had so long outraged His laws, and who offered to become His servant only after years of indulgence in sin?

A. Yes. He had said, 'Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.' His experience is thus recorded

'I lov'd Thee late, though early well I knew,
From saintly mother, what to Thee was due;
And such a mother, following her child
From home to cities, where in riot wild

I liv'd, and sometimes prayed without a vow,
"Lord, give me purity, but give not now."
'I lov'd Thee late, Lord, after shameful years
Of strife, wag'd hard between desires and fears,
Thy word now check'd me; now my will give rein
To lusts that drew me deep in vice again.
O Patience wonderful, Thou didst not hate
The lingering heart of him who lov'd Thee late.' §

Another resident in this city, who in his day was a well-known leader in profligacy in the town, of whom my friend told me, was a Colonel in the army. The son also of a pious mother, he gave himself up to practise all uncleanness with greediness, being yet so

HAD just counted out three florins for the washerwoman, and laid them on the table, when the bell rang. On opening the door, I found a telegraph messenger. He was a handsome, wide-awake boy, but his face was blue with cold, and I bade him come in and warm himself. He took a seat by the fire, and, as I glanced at the message, his bright eyes travelled round the room. After reading the message, I said, 'There is no answer, and, if you are warm, you can go.'

He half rose to go, paused, and said, 'Please, ma'am, could you give me a drink of water?" I said, 'Certainly,' and stepped into the dining room for a glass of water. When I gave it to him he drank a very little, seized his hat, and seemed in a great hurry to go. The great hurry was explained when I came to the room. I noticed that a newspaper had been thrown over my three florins, and, on lifting it, behold! one florin was gone. I stood quite still with surprise. Could it be possible that my bright-eyed boy was a thief? He must be-for no one else had entered the room. Then it flashed across me that the request for water was simply a plan to get me out of the room, so that he could rob me. Could so young a boy be so crafty? Surely this was warming a viper. Now I understood why he flew down the steps in such haste.

I sat down to think a little. Was it worth a mile of bitter cold riding to the telegraph office to get back the florin? I was busy, and expected company to tea. No, the florin must go, and I would leave no more money on the table, and ask no more boys to warm themselves. I had learned something, but how about the bright-eyed boy? He was somebody's son, already out in the big world earning his living. He would be a man some day, and, having stolen a florin without meeting punishment, he might steal again, and end with the penitentiary.

I put on my hat and rode down to the office. There was no one in but the operator. The messenger-boy had gone out.

'You sent your boy to my house this afternoon,' I said.

The man looked up,

and said, 'Yes, I did, inquired my number,

'What is his name?' I asked.
'Harry Carter.'

'Did you ever know of his stealing?' 'Oh, no, ma'am, never.' 'Well,' I said, 'Harry Carter stole from me this afternoon, I'm sorry to say.'

Indeed, ma'am; are you sure?' 'Perfectly sure.'

Then I told him what had happened, and he looked very grave. Then I said, 'It is a great pity to let such a thing go unnoticed, and when Harry comes back, I wish you would

tell him how wrong it is to steal. I came here to do it myself.'

The man looked uncomfortable. 'I wish, ma'am, you could do it; for I am a poor person to talk.'

It was growing colder and darker; the supper and the company came into my mind. Should I wait for Harry? Was it worth the bother? Was it worth the bother to say a few words that might do good and might not? Was it worth the bother to try and change this boy's whole life, perhaps?

I concluded to wait; so the operator placed a chair by the fire, and went back to his work. The room was a dreary one, and there was nothing to look at but some railroad maps on the wall. My thoughts were grave, my feet were cold, and my supper waited at home. Twenty minutes passed, and no sound was heard save the click of the instrument and the tramp of the passers-by. Thirty-forty minutes slipped away, and my feet seemed turning to stone. Was it worth the bother? Surely, whoever goes out into the world to seek lost sheep' must have patience and perseverance.

At last, when an hour had passed, a quick step was heard, and Harry Carter came in with bright eyes and red cheeks. He went straight to the operator without noticing me. I heard the man say gravely

Harry, there is a lady by the fire who wants to see you.'

'To see me! Who can it be?'

Then he walked over to me, and when he caught my eye I knew he was the thief. The red blood rushed over his brow, and his face was the picture of guilt. I felt sorry for him very sorry, but I said in a low voice

Harry, I want the florin you took off my table.'

'I didn't take it,' he said earnestly, 'I didn't take it; but he added hurriedly, 'I'll give you one.'

'But you need not give me one if you did not take mine,' I said. 'Don't tell any more stories, Harry-you know you took it.'

He was afraid his employer would hear what was said, and, without another word, he pulled out the florin and gave it to me.

There were people coming and going, and my time was short; but I gave him a most earnest little talk, and begged him never to steal again. I shall try to do something more for Harry Carter. What his life will be I do not know, but I hope that if he stole from me for the first time, it may also be the last time.

I hope the boys who may read this story will not be like Harry Carter. I hope you will have no 'first time' to steal. If you steal, you will be apt to lie to conceal it. Stealing and lying generally go together. If you are in school, do not steal the examples from your desk-mate's slate, and try to pass

them off for your own. You will cheat yourself worse than you cheat the teacher. Some day you will need the knowledge which you are not gaining now. Do not get the boy beside you to tell you how to spell, so that you can steal his spelling, and pass that off for your own. I knew a boy who once copied a composition out of a book, and handed it to the teacher as his own. The teacher read it, then wrote on it, 'Stolen,' and gave it back to him.

If you go into a store or an office, be honest about everything that belongs to other people. If you want a thing, ask for it; but if you fail to get it, you can better go without it than go without a good name.

If your time belongs to your employer, do not steal his time and waste it. Every one likes a boy who can be trusted. People say, 'Honesty is the best policy,' and this means that honesty will always be best in the end; but it would be better perhaps to say, 'Honesty pleases God;' think always that God sees you, and you will not want to steal.

I remember hearing of a bad man who went out with his little son to steal. He looked on every side to see if any one was watching him. The boy said, 'Father, you did not look up where God is.' And when the father heard that, he was afraid to steal.

FAILURE. Be not disheartened if much of your sowing in other hearts should seem to fail. Make sure that you sow the 'good seed.' Pray for the Spirit to prepare the soil; and trust God to give the increase. In some hearts the truth will take deep and abiding root. God will find ways to plough the fallow ground and break the hard rock, and to uproot the cares and selfish desires that hinder spiritual life. There will be some in whom the fruit will be thirty, sixty, and a hundred fold.

The Charmed Flower.
When by an Irish peasant's hearth
A little one pines away,

With sunken eyes and fading cheeks:
In a mournful, sure decay,

Yet with a hunger that nought can appease,
Craves food from morn till night,
While weaker, still weaker, the wasted form,
And quenched the eyes' glad light.
The wise women, skilled in mystic lore,
Shake their heads, and sadly say,
'The lamb on hungry grass has trod,

And will die with the year's last day, 'Unless the charmèd flower is found,

Which alone can cure such pining ; That flower, which blooming for one brief hour, Must be plucked when the moon is shining.' Then the parents an anxious search begin

For the wondrous floweret bright; They cross the moors, and they climb the hills, But that flower ne'er glads their sight.

And the child, all weary, by their side,
Puts forth its eager hand,

But only the worthless weeds it grasps—
In vain they search the land.

Till at last, worn out with the toilsome way,
Dying, the child sinks down,
Whiles fades the light of the year's last eve
O'er the dreary moorland brown.

There are souls consumed with a hunger vain, Through this darksome world that pass, Who, perchance, when straying in other fields, Have trod on the hungry grass.

And all their life is a long, long search

For the charmèd flower of their dreams;
But nowhere, nowhere upon the earth
That mystical floweret gleams.

Oh, vain the seeking! but leaves we bring,
Has lured our eyes, but when scarcely culled,
And blossoms whose radiant glow
As baleful herbs we know.

But the starving soul with the year won't die,
Though it sink down faint and weary,
Dark skies above it, wild wastes around;
It will pine through long years dreary.
They say that the grave can such pining cure,
In its silent, dreamless sleep;
But not for the rest of death we pant,
'Tis for life, more full and deep.

O soul, that on hungry grass has trod;
'Mid fields of fairer bloom,

It may be that precious flower is found,
In a land beyond the tomb,

Where Sharon's Rose emits its breath,
And the lily of the vale; -

And there may the Living Bread be found,
That thy need can never fail.

And there thou mayest thy thirst assuage,
Where the Living Water flows;

And there in shelter sure abide,

Where the True Vine spreads its boughs.

There is surely nought but that Bread of Life Can still the spirit's pain;

When only it drinks from those living streams, It may not thirst again.

And only fruit from the True Vine plucked
Can cure the pining soul,

And only the shelter its branches give,
Relieve the spirit's dole.

But heavy and thick is the air we breathe,
And the scent of heavenly flowers
Comes wafted not on the evening breeze,
From out those distant bowers.

O Flower divine, some fragrance waft;
Bread of Life, some portion send;
O Living Streams, some drops vouchsafe;
True Vine! fruit, shelter lend.

M. Nethercott.

HERE are several errors which Sabbath-school teachers, who seek to represent the divine Master, and are influenced by His Spirit, will avoid.

1. They will not consider the conversion of their scholars the ultimate result of their labours. The word conversion is, in its common acceptation, made synonymous with regeneration, or, at least, with the first step in the outward Christian life as the immediate effect of regeneration. This was the meaning attached to it by the teacher who thoughtlessly went to her pastor with the statement and question: All my class are converted. What shall I do next?"

In its truer and wider significancy conversion extends over the whole Christian life of earth, which should be a perpetual turning from sin. In this sense the question as to whether a person can be converted more than once is not legitimate. True conversion, in the Christian heart and life, goes on unceasingly until perfect holiness is produced by the Spirit at death. But in neither sense of the word should conversion be regarded as the great end of preaching or of Sabbath-school instruction. Not in the first sense, because while it is true that every soul which is really regenerated will persevere in the divine life, so that regeneration, with the first step in conversion, is really the turning point in the destiny, yet, under God, the preservation of that life and persistence in it depend on careful culture, accurate instruction, perpetual watchfulness against temptation, and the active exercise of the Christian habits; so that it may almost be said, from the human point of view, that perseverance in conversion is more difficult than the commencement of it. Nor, in the second and wider sense of the word, should conversion be exalted to this high and ultimate ground. For it suggests rather the negative side of the Christian lifethe abandonment of sin. But the positive formation of all the religious virtues should be strenuously aimed after. The decided cultivation of devotional habits, the development and strengthening of the various graces which constitute the rounded Christian character, the promotion of activity in the work of the Church, the production of the liberal spirit-all these should be included as the end of Sabbath-school instruction.

the gospels, the clearest words which fell from the lips of Jesus were those in which He foretold the certainty of His death, and the nature and object of it. Yet, to the very last, so strong were the Jewish prejudices, and so deep was the spiritual ignorance of His Apostles, that they could not and would not understand Him. But how tenderly did Jesus bear with their misconception and their blindness! And pastors will say still that the great difficulty they have in dealing with awakened souls is to make them perceive the relation of the Saviour's death to them, and the freeness of the gospel salvation. This is a part of the very darkness which has to be removed by the Spirit under our instruction. teachers find it, in the course of their instruction, they should deal with it as the Master did.

When

3. Nor, with advancing years and increasing engagements, will teachers, who seek to represent the Master, permit themselves to be withdrawn from their work. It will be their life employment. I do not underrate the importance of winning the young into the ranks. But it is an evil that so many, of the men especially, when they marry and settle in the world, permit themselves to be separated from the school.

The true ideal of this department of the Church is that it should be the agency through which almost every Christian work may be carried on, and that not only in it should be retained the experienced, the grey-haired, the aged, as teachers, but that the whole communion-roll of the church and the members of the congregation should be gathered together in adult as well as in youthful classes for the study of God's Word and the prosecution of Christ's mission. Making every allowance for mothers, whose home relations keep them away, and for the sick and the attendants upon the sick, who cannot be present, the masses of our congregations should thus be organised. Sabbath-school classes might thus accomplish all the good which our Methodist brethren aim after in the classes which form so prominent a part in their Church life.

Next to the pulpit, the noblest position which a man can occupy is that of a Sabbathschool teacher. Governors, judges, lawyers, merchants, working-men add to their dignity by entering it; and those who once engage in it, if they truly seek to represent the Master, will never leave it until, as death_removed Him, so it takes them from the earth.

the human soul. Happily, Jesus can remove the latter as well as the former. To Him we are invited to come, and to bring our neighbours and friends.