towards God, and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ." He was awfully affected by the reality of death, and by the thought that in a few days he should see God, and his eternal destiny be fixed. I continued preaching to him the Gospel, and praying with him until he again lapsed into unconsciousness. On the Tuesday following I was summoned to him, but he was dying. The scene was affecting and humiliating. Between the Saturday and the Tuesday, he had been visited by his brother, (a disciple of Taylor, the infidel,) who remained with him till his death. During part of the night preceding, and the early part of the morning of the day on which he died, he expended his remaining strength, and the warm feelings of his heart, in entreating his brother to take warning from his circumstances to prepare for death. Before I arrived he had become speechless. But there stood his brother-two other young men-a little boy, eight years of age, with his head bowed upon the pillow of his dying father—a babe, a few months old, on an adjoining bed and the wife clasping the hand of her dying husband, expecting every moment that he would breathe for the last time and die. Was it necessary for me to speak of the solemnity of dying? We all saw and felt it. But why was I sent for? Could not the dying man endure his indifference? He could not. But when his infidel brother came, could not he comfort him? No; infidelity will not do for the chamber of death. Whatever infidelity he had at other times, he had none then; and while the Scriptures were read, and prayer was offered on behalf of the dying man, the disciple of Taylor wept aloud, and seemed unwilling to rise from his knees.

THE SIN-BURDENED ABYSSINIAN.

Though the Gospel at an early period was preached to the Abyssinians, and there still remains a remnant of nominal Christianity among them, they are in fact far remote from the living God. Ignorant of the way of salvation, barbarous in their habits, wicked in their lives and constantly exposed to hostile invasion from bands of robbers, and their own more powerful neighbours, they pass a most miserable existence. Though sunk in very deep ignorance, they often feel their own sinfulness as transgressors before God.

At such times they usually resort to self-torture, or some dark superstitious rites to obtain a sense of pardon.

Mr. Gobat on one occasion related a very affecting instance of this kind, clearly shewing that nothing can bring peace to the mind, or relieve a sin-afflicted soul of its burden, but the atoning blood of Christ.

The circumstances were these. On one occasion a man of con. siderable distinction, who had for many years been a sort of monk, devoted, from religious considerations, to seclusion and solitariness, entered Mr. Gobat's house. He came in with a very consequential and self-righteous air, but seemed evidently labouring under bodily weakness and hidden sorrow of heart. There were a number present who had come to seek religious counsel, whom he with a very lofty bearing ordered to withdraw. They obeyed. He then sat down by the side of Mr. Gobat, and putting his hand on his forehead, and looking stedfastly at him said, "I am ill, very ill," with a deep sigh. He then continued, "I consider you to be a servant of God, and will therefore reveal to you the cause of my illness."

After a short pause he thus proceeded: "I wish to give you the outlines of my history. Being the son of a governor, and enjoying ease of circumstances, and the means of indulgence, I lived many years in sin, forgetful of God, and regardless of his laws. At length my conscience was awakened, and I began to fear the wrath of Jehovah. The more I reflected, the more my agony and terror increased. I did not know what to do. At last I determined to leave secretly my wife and children and all that I had, and to retire into a wilderness which was inhabited only by wild beasts. There I lived many months upon roots, taking only just so much as was necessary to keep me alive. As I could find no peace for my heart, I determined to stand in a river of cold water from sunset to sunrise; which I did for a long time. I next bound my ancles so fast with a chain that I have never been able since to walk without very great pain. Finally, I inflicted a number of stripes every day on my body, the source of my sins, till it was covered all over with putrifying wounds. This has ruined my health. But I console myself with the idea that I have done all this for God's sake."

Mr. Gobat listened to him with painful emotions; and when he had ceased speaking, he replied, "I perceive you are ill, very ill, but Is there no balm in Gilead-is there no physician there?" My dear friend, all these self-inflicted sufferings will do you no good -they are not acceptable to God; they are the result of ignorance

and pride, and therefore sinful. It is utterly impossible for you to find relief from any thing of this sort."

As soon as Mr. Gobat made these remarks, the poor Abyssinian seemed struck down with terror. His whole frame trembled and shook like an aspen leaf.

"Do you mean," said he, "to tell me that all this is vain?"

This

"Yes," replied the missionary, "but I also mean to tell you of the Son of God, who came to die for our redemption. • God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.' Son of God 'died for our sins and rose for our justification.' 'This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus come into the world to save sinners.' 'His blood cleanseth from all sin.' 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.' There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus.'

These and other passages from the writings of St. Paul, were repeated by Mr. Gobat, which shew we are saved by grace, through faith, not of ourselves, for it is the gift of God. Upon hearing these passages this trembling sinner seemed utterly astonished, and cried out, "Is it possible?-can I yet be saved?-can all my guilt be removed?"

In further conversation, he remarked, "In truth I had despaired of finding peace with God. I had, therefore, determined, if possible, to secure a good name among my fellow men; and for that purpose I have been going about for some time, exhorting people to live better. All this time, however, conscience has been goading me, and as I went along I have groaned to be delivered from this heavy burden of sin. But now I hear the incarnate Son of God saying, 'Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest,' I will renounce my own righteousness, and all the vain expedients which I have been trying, and go to this Saviour. I will read the Gospel, and seek the way of salvation in the word of God.

The haughty, but sin-burdened Abyssinian was thus led to the feet of Jesus. He became an humble, sanctified follower of the Lamb, bearing testimony to the efficacy of that peace-speaking blood, which cleanseth from all sin. What Christian that reads this sketch will not burn with fervent desire to send the news of salvation to the ten thousands now sitting in darkness, many of whom

feel the burden of their sins, but know of no relief. And who that reads this sketch, that has not yet known the transforming power of divine grace, will not resolve with this Abyssinian, to abandon all his vain expedients to justify himself on the ground of his own righteousness, and go to the purifying fountain of that blood, which makes the leprous Naaman clean? What are ten thousands of silver and gold in comparison with the pardon of sin and reconciliation with God? Let me be included in the everlasting cove. nant of mercy, and I have all that heart can desire-God is my guardian and guide-my counsellor and friend-my comfort in death-my portion through eternity.

A PLEASING DISCOVERY.

Entering the office of a respectable merchant one day, I saw the owner looking intently into his money-drawer. I naturally thought that in the absence of customers, he was counting his gains. But when he raised his head, I thought there was an expression in his countenance more noble than that of avarice. It did not seem like the lustre reflected from coin, but as beautifully expressed by one, there seemed to shine "a beam from heaven which may be supposed to have accompanied the thoughts back to earth that had been just expatiating above." Requiring some change after I had made my purchase, my curiosity induced me to cast a glance into the drawer when it was again opened, and there in one apartment lay an open Bible. While I felt a reproof from the monitor within, the thought also struck me that I had now discovered the cause of this brother's eminent attainments in piety, that in the most afflictive bereavement, he had been favoured to "rejoice in the Lord and to joy in the God of his salvation." His Bible is cherished, and loved, and read in the midst of business; and though it may be surrounded with what the world worships, he yet sees in it the pearl of great price, beholds a treasure that will never fail, a sweetener of toil, the earnest of an inheritance in reversion, of happiness not to be interrupted, never to end.

ANECDOTE.

Lady Huntingdon once spoke to a workman who was repairing a garden wall and pressed him to take some thought concerning eternity and the state of his soul. Some years afterwards she was speaking to another on the same subject, and said to him, "Thomas, I fear you never pray, nor look to Christ for salvation." "Your ladyship is mistaken," answered the man. "I heard what passed between you and James at such a time, and the word you designed for him took effect on me." "How did you hear it?" inquired her ladyship. "I heard it," answered the man, "on the other side of the garden, through a hole in the wall, and shall never forget the impression I received."

HYMN TO THE REDEEMER.

When o'er Judea's vales and hills,
Or by her olive-shaded rills,
Thy weary footsteps went of old,
Or walked the lulling waters bold,
How beauteous were the marks divine,
That in thy meekness used to shine-
That lit thy lonely pathway, trod
In wondrous love, O Lamb of God!
Oh! who like thee, so calm, so bright,
So pure, so made to live in light?
Oh who like thee, did ever go,
So patient, through a world of wo?
Oh! who like thee, so humbly bore
The scorn, the scoffs of men before-
So meek, forgiving, god-like, high,
So glorious in humility?

The morning saw thee, like the day,
Forth on thy light-bestowing way;
And evening, in her holy hues,
Shed down her sweet baptismal dews,
Where bending angels stoop'd to see
The lisping infant clasp thy knee,
And smile, as in a father's eye,
Upon thy mild divinity!

The hours when princes sought their rest
Beheld thee still no chamber's guest;
But when the chilly night hung round,
And man from thee sweet slumber found,
Thy wearied footsteps sought, alone,
The mountain to thy sorrows known,
And darkness heard thy troubled prayer,
Or hid thee in the prowler's lair.

And all thy life's unchanging years,
A man of sorrows and of tears,
The cross, where all our sins were laid,
Upon thy bending shoulders weigh'd;
And death, that sets the pris'ner free,
Was pang, and scoff, and scorn to thee;
Yet love through all thy torture glow'd,
And mercy with thy life-blood flow'd.

O wondrous Lord! my soul would be
Still more and more conform'd to thee;
Would lose the pride, the taint of sin,
That burns these fever'd veins within,