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weary traveller to that dear home, of which earth's brightest and happiest is but a feeble type.



Now we read in that saddest of all books, "One event happeneth to all," and St. Paul says, "It is appointed unto men once to die."2 The fact is sure; but the how, and the when, and the where are all unknown to us. Are we, then, ready to meet that solemn hour? One way there is only one way by which the king of terrors may be changed to us into a gentle friend-one way by which death may be robbed of its deadly sting. Listen, then, once again to the wonderful story of the Father's love, of the Saviour's sacrifice: "The sting of death is sin ;"3 but "God so loved the world," that He spared not" His only begotten Son; and the Lord Jesus Christ came to put away sin by the sacrifice of Himself."5 "His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree."" He suffered the full penalty of sin, endured its deadly sting, so that to all who believe on Him He "hath abolished death;" for to such death becomes only the entrance to truer life; so that St. Paul could say, "To depart and be with Christ is far better."8 And David could sing, 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me;" and every day God's people bear witness that the way is not dark; for Jesus is with them. Ah! that is the secret of their peaceJesus with them. They learned to know Him in days of health as their Saviour, and now He is their well-known Friend, who told them all along, “I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." "10 But without Christ, how shall any face that dark, dread hour? You may succeed in putting the thought from you as a gloomy one; but not the less each day and hour, as it rushes so swiftly by, is hurrying you fast to that time when flesh and heart must fail-when no dearest friend nor most skilled physician can detain you—and what then? Can you look eternity in the face with all your sins lying 3 I Cor. xv. 56.

1 Eccles. ii. 14. 2 Heb. ix. 27.

John iii. 16. Rom. viii. 32.


2 Tim. i. 10.

5 Heb. ix. 26.

8 Phil. i. 23.

9 Psa. xxiii. 4.



I Pet. ii. 24. 10 Heb. xiii. 5.

heavily on you? Can you appear in the presence of a holy God, who has said, "The soul that sinneth, it shall die,"1 and whose oft-repeated offers of pardon and cleansing you have rejected? There is something inexpressibly terrible in the thought of a Christless death-bed-of being laid in a Christless grave of awakening to a Christless resurrection. Truly, to live without Christ is unsatisfying, and vain, and weary; but to die without Him-to have heard for the last time His loving invitation, “Come unto Me "to close the eyes in darkness, and to open them in despair. Surely, surely you will not be content to die thus. You have not, thank God! heard the invitation for the last time; for I now entreat you to come to Him. Come just as you are; and "though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; and though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."2 More still He offers you the Holy Spirit to teach and sanctify; and then, whether death shall come by railway accident, or sinking ship, or in the hushed chamber, it will be well with you, and you may exclaim, "O death, where is thy sting! O grave, where is thy victory! Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!"3

She was a Stranger.

MISSIONARY was requested to go out to a new settlement to address a Sabbath-school. He had preached in the morning, and was wearied, and felt quite unfitted for the task, but reluctantly consented to go.

When he found himself at the spot, he looked round the assembly with great misgivings, not knowing what to say to them. He noticed a little girl, shabbily dressed and barefooted, shrinking in a corner, her little sunburnt face buried. 3 I Cor. xv. 55-57.

1 Ezek. xviii. 20.

2 Isa. i. 18.

in her hands, the tears trickling between her small brown fingers, and sobbing as if her heart would break. Soon, however, another little girl, about eleven years old, got up and went to her, whispered kindly to her, and, taking her by the hand, led her toward a brook, then seated her on a log, and, kneeling beside her, she took off her ragged sun-bonnet, and, dipping her hand in the water, bathed her hot eyes and tear-stained face, and smoothed her tangled hair, talking in a cheery manner all the while.

The little one brightened up, the tears all went, and smiles came creeping around the rosy mouth.

The missionary stepped forward, and said :

"Is that your little sister, my dear ?"

"No, sir," answered the noble child, with tender, earnest eyes; "I have no sister, sir."

"Oh! one of the neighbours' children," replied the missionary ; a little school-mate, perhaps?"


"No, sir; she is a stranger. I do not know where she came from; I never saw her before."

"Then how came you to take her out and have such a care for her if you do not know her?"

"Because she was a stranger, sir, and seemed all alone, and needed somebody to be kind to her."

“Ah !” said the missionary to himself, "here is a text for me to preach from-'Because she was a stranger, and seemed all alone, and needed somebody to be kind to her."" The words came to him, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me." So, taking the little girls by the hand, he went back to the schoolroom and told the people the simple story; then spoke of the great love that all should bear to one another, even as the dear Saviour sought out those who were humble and of low estate, making them His peculiar The missionary forgot his weariness, and felt that God had put a good word into his mouth.


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HE biographer of the late Rev. Alexander Dallas tells us, that as that gentleman was passing through one of the most frequented of our West End streets, on a certain day when the throng happened to be even greater than usual, he observed a little girl about five years old standing by one of the shop windows as if waiting

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