other hope but that which rests in him, and in the spirit of repentance and faith, exclaiming with the dying thief, "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom," Luke xxiii. 42.

But did it never occur to you that before you can be saved through Christ, you must feel that you need to be saved? We know that Christ died for the ungodly; yet if ungodly men turn away, and by so doing say, "But we have no desire to be saved," -what then? Will the fact that Christ died be of any use to them? How can it be? And, continuing thus, they will go into eternity without salvation, although a Saviour shed his blood for a guilty world; they will miss salvation and heaven, because they did not feel their want of Christ, but stayed away from him, acting like some of old, to whom the Saviour himself said, "Ye will not come to me, that ye might have life," John v. 40.

If we were to attempt to describe such characters, we might compare them to a man who had fallen into a stream leading to a deep and rushing cataract. At first the water runs gently onward, and gives but few signs of the awful depth towards which it is gradually but certainly hastening. He may seize on some floating log to hold him up, and be confident that he can reach the shore, in spite of the fall. But a kind friend on the shore thinks very differently. He fears the worst, and throws out a rope to the swimmer, urging him to lay fast hold of it, that he may drag him out. "Let me alone, I am safe enough," cries the man. "Take care, take care," cries the friend. "All right, no fear!" again replies the reckless swimmer. Already has the stream carried him on. He has not felt it,—but he goes on, and on, and on; while the cries of his friend, as he runs along the shore to keep pace with the strengthening stream, are heard louder and more terrific. The swimmer says, "I will try a little longer, and then if I fail I will snatch the rope." "Lay hold! lay hold!” "One more trial, and then I will." He tries, -and fails. Now he turns for the rope, but he cannot reach it. The stream is swifter. He is borne into the middle of it, and he is swept on with a force that nothing can stem. He is in despair. The falls are near. He hears their roar. The friend stands on the bank with his hands stretched out in speechless sorrow, but without power to help, and without hope: the wretched man is hurried down the fearful fall, and is lost! Of what use was the rope to this man, when he would not lay hold of it?

Numerous examples may be found in the histories of men to bear out this illustration. For instance; a young man, who had been carefully instructed in the knowledge of the gospel of

CHRIST, THE SAVIOUR OF THE LOST.

3

left the parental home, and went into the world to pursue his business, and to seek a fortune. But while diligent and industrious in business, he despised the apostolic precept, to be "fervent in spirit, serving the Lord." He put away thoughts of religion. He neglected the house of God, his Bible, and prayer. Association with evil companions completed the work of forgetfulness of God, and he was soon notorious as one of the gayest among the gay. He avowed what are called infidel opinions, and affected to overthrow by argument the doctrines of God's word. He lifted his voice against them at debating societies; and if any rebuked him for having gone too far, he only smiled to find himself famed among the champions of free-thinking. But he was cast down by affliction,-and his sickness was "unto death!"

Now, his infidelity proved a broken reed. His companions never came near to comfort him with the hope that there is no hereafter. They forsook him, and left him to the tender mercies of his accusing conscience, whose stings were fearful. But while conscience threatened, there was no sense of mercy to ease the tortures of his soul. No one could tell him more than he himself knew of the revelation of Christ. The prayers of his mother, long gone to her reward, came back upon him like a dream. What he had heard in days and years gone by he well remembered. What more could he know, or want to know? Alas! he had knowledge, but not faith and love. He knew, too, that he had despised the Saviour when he ought to have listened to His tender words of love. He had spurned the Spirit of God, when he ought to have opened his heart to receive him. now-now in his anguish, now in the end of his course-he saw not that Saviour nigh: but afar off. He died, crying, "I am lost!" Reader! it is not for us to lift the veil of futurity, or to judge; but these are the facts. Weigh them for yourself. Think of them, and ask, "What did it signify to this man that Christ had died, if he would not accept that Saviour?" Alas! it would only increase his condemnation.

And

But, blessed be God! by his grace the "rope" is not always refused; the Saviour is not always rejected. A minister of the gospel was one day sent for to visit a young woman, who was supposed to be near death. He found her very ill, but able to converse without difficulty. Anxious to discover what hope she might have of eternal life, he began to inquire into her history, and then led the conversation to religion, and to her views on this subject. The result was that she considered herself moral, not worse than her neighbours; and she concluded by saying, "I believe God will accept me."

"Did you never hear of Christ?" said the visitor.

"Then I came to speak to you of Christ, as one who came to save the lost but I see you do not think yourself one of the lost, and therefore Christ will be nothing to you."

He left her. But his parting words remained, and they were words she could not forget. "What! did Christ come to save the lost, and do I mean that I am not one whom he can save ?" And the Spirit of God was there to teach her more of herself than she had ever known before. The friend came again; but what a change he found in her! "Oh! sir," she exclaimed, "I am one of the lost! I feel it now-I feel it, indeed, now.

And that day she the world, that he believeth in him

"Now let me tell you of Christ," said he. learned with gratitude how "God so loved gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever should not perish, but have everlasting life." Many interviews afterwards took place with this dying young woman; at every visit she grew more earnest in her trust in Christ, and love to him, and at last died saying, "I have found him who came to save the lost." Reader, it is deserving of thought, how little worth the death of Christ would have been to this woman if she had not seen herself guilty, and as one who had need of Christ. And have you never seriously thought of your need, as a sinner for whom Christ died? Are you content to stem the stream all alone-the stream that is hurrying you on, swiftly, surely, fatally, to your end? Or, like the young man who stifled conviction, and turned to the world, will you run on in sin and in infidelity until it is "too late?" Or, if this open blasphemy be too revolting to your sense of right, or your convictions of truth, will you be satisfied to admit the fact of Christ's death, while at the same time you wrap yourself in the mantle of your own fancied excellences, and say, "God will accept me at last?" Nay, this is not wise. Never had Christ died, unless your wants had been so extreme that without his death you could never be forgiven. Never would God have made such a costly sacrifice as the life of his Son, except to provide a salvation for those who could never be saved without it. Therefore, while the gospel still cries aloud to every man, "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters," never turn away and say, "I need not go;" but listen as though the invitation were all to you, and to none but you, that you may never have to mourn in bitterness of soul when the day of grace is past, saying, "Alas! I might have been saved, if I had only felt my need of Christ." Go to him, then; go at once; for not only do you need him, but he will never turn you away, and “ He is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him," Heb. vii. 25.

:

THE

HOUSE ON THE

SAND.

"EVERY one," said Christ, "that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell and great was the fall of it," Matt. vii. 26, 27. Perhaps you may think, "Well, the people in those far countries may have odd ways of doing things, but we should never build a house without laying a firm foundation, to stand the storms." And yet the circumstances mentioned in the following story actually took place not very long ago.

A poor family in Ireland, of the name of Sloane, were compelled to leave the little farm they had held, because they could not pay their rent; and they found themselves without a place to go to. They were respectable people, but hard times had come upon them, and they were quite broken down by the famine. They got behind with the landlord, and there was no help for them; they had to quit. Mickey Sloane was a weaver, but he had been forced to sell his loom to buy meal; so he, with his wife and two small children, had nothing to do, and no home. Poor Mick was sadly put to it to find a shelter for those who

were trusting to him. He would have gone to America; but who would pay his passage-money? So, after turning the matter over in his mind, he bethought him of a small strip of land on the shore, right under a sand bank. This spot had never been cultivated, for though the grass had grown over it there was nothing but sand underneath. However, as Mick got it for next to nothing, he had a mind to put him up a shelter there. So he collected some stones and wood, and set to work in right earnest; and in a very short time he had a house, such as it was. "But anyhow," said Mick, "it will keep my Mary and the little ones from the cold and the wet, and we'll not be beholden to the landlord."

Now Mick never so much as thought of the foundation. If he had he never would have placed his house where he did; but he just set up his four walls upon the sand, and roofed them in, and thought it would serve his turn well enough.

"Morrow to ye, Mick," said a neighbour to him the day after he had come to live on the shore; "this is but a poor place I see you in; and I'm thinking that the first hurricane that gets up will carry your house into the sea. Besides, you see, this sand is queer and shifting; I wish you had built somewhere on firmer ground, for I'm afraid that ye'll come to grief." "Och, no, Pat!" said Mick, "ye'll see that the house will stand my time, and serve my turn till God sends me a better; and may be the times may mend, and I may get up in the world again. And then you see its handy for me being so near the boats, and I can get out and fish."

Well, sure enough, the house did stand for a good while, and Mick and his family lived in it for about a year: and doubtless many a time he looked at it with pride and pleasure as he was coming in to the shore in the boat, and thought it looked right well and snug under the bank, with the Morne mountains behind it. Little did he think that one day his shelter would deceive him, and fall when he most needed it.

But the winter set in very severe; storms swept along the Irish coast, and the whistling winds might have warned Mick to look to his house, and see if it would stand the blast. But he never gave it a thought. He felt quite safe, and it would have been all a waste of words to try to show him his danger.

This winter Mickey thought the times were really going to mend with him, for his father-in-law sent him a hundred of meal and a loom. His joy was great at getting the loom, for he thought now they would surely get work and be well to do again. But a very short time after Mickey got the loom, there came a fearful storm. It set in just at night; the wind howled, and the sea dashed and foamed against the rocks, and the rain fell